We Circle by Night
by InsanitySilver
Summary: 'Cracked lips parted, releasing a mumbled incantation that felt like a prayer. The last word faded, and the room was still. "Caleb?" asked a voice, rough from sleep, that he hadn't heard in sixteen years. ' - Caleb timetravels to fix his issues but ends up the night before the encounter with the Iron Shepherds and can't resist changing the timeline. Critical Role. Widomauk.
1. From Diamonds, Ash

**_Chapter One:_**

 ** _From Diamonds, Ash_**

 _In Girum Imus Nocte et Consumimur Igni_

 _We circle round and round by night and are consumed by fire._

 _((Big 'ole spoilers for episode 26 of Critical Role then maybe some minor spoilers from episodes 27-28 before we diverge from canon))_

 _…_

Caleb stood in the center of a decaying room lit only by the dying sun behind him. A shock of gray hair sprung from his temples from a lifetime of stress, dirt caked under his nails, and a fine layer of dust coated him as if the surrounding room claimed him as its own.

Before him, arranged with impossible precision, laid all his wealth in the world. Every asset he had liquidated besides the clothes on his back and two worn, familiar tomes at his side. The rest he traded for gold, and gold he traded for diamonds. Five-hundred-thousand-gold worth of diamonds, specifically, and not a cent more.

A chill wind blew from the opened window behind him, carrying the dried husks of leaves with it. They skittered across the floor, and Caleb put a heel down on one before it could cross into his circle of runes.

The slow crunch was the only sound besides Caleb's beating heart.

He wanted to be excited, relieved, or hell, even scared. But now, standing in front of the ritual he'd devoted thirty years of his life to, he didn't feel anything. This didn't feel real, but then again, neither had his life past the age of seventeen.

He flexed his numb fingers and stepped carefully into the center of the circle. He hadn't told anyone else he was leaving today, but that wouldn't matter. Theoretically.

Caleb steadied himself by wrapping a calloused hand around the golden charm hanging from a damaged chain around his neck. The oils from his hand gripping it over the years had tarnished the gold, and dirt and flecks of dried blood—potentially not all his own—collected in the grooves of the heart-shaped talisman. For a brief moment, the gemstone beneath the grim caught the fading light, flashing crimson in the murky dusk.

Cracked lips parted, releasing a mumbled incantation that felt like a prayer. The last word faded, and the room was still.

Nothing happened.

Caleb's eyes widened. Why hadn't—

The room exploded with the sound of a thousand thunderclaps, shaking the castle until the walls crumbled and the floor gave out beneath him. Sensations passed over him faster then he could comprehend. Hot, cold, darkness, light, pleasure, and most of all pain. The air was dragged from his lungs and the pressure in his skull built to a degree that his skull vibrated with the tension.

Visions rushed around him in an alien blur of colors, just on the edge of understanding. They filled the space, mowing him down and rushing up his nose and down his throat like he was trapped in the bottom of a rushing river.

A large black shape sped towards him, larger and larger. Caleb couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It slammed into him, consuming him in black tar. His lungs burned, and he gasped for air that wasn't there.

He was going to die.

Then he jolted awake, accidentally kicking the warm body curled beside him.

He took several deep breathes, fighting down the rising panic. He felt fine. Actually, better than fine. His joints didn't ache, his limbs weren't stiff, and his lungs didn't rattle. His body wasn't held together by scar tissue and force of will alone anymore. He had all the fingers on his left hand again.

He continued his deep breathing, taking in a deep lungful of cold air before surveying his surroundings. Flat swathes of canvas hung over him in a familiar triangle shape, and a chill breeze played with the tent flap, rustling his hair and clinging to the sweat on his temple. Through the gap he could see the black sky hung heavy with clouds and the shapes of dead and dying foliage scattered around the hilltop along with a paper-thin layer of snow.

A small figure curled against his stomach, her slight chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. A less familiar arm was slung haphazardly over his chest from behind with several gaudy rings attached to the fingers. Warm knees poked at the back of his thighs.

At that he blinked, then the realization finally sunk in.

This was it.

He'd done it.

His heart began to race again to keep time with his rushing thoughts. He shifted, unable to keep to still.

"Caleb?" asked a voice, rough from sleep, that he hadn't heard in sixteen years. The sound of it sent a shudder up Caleb's spine.

Mollymauk yawned behind him, withdrawing his arm to stretch, eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Are they here?" Nott asked, voice quiet but eyes wide as if she'd never been asleep at all. Her golden eyes studied him in the darkness while she waited for a response. It was nice to see her again with two eyes instead of one.

"No, I've just got to take a piss," he managed, keeping his voice as even as he could under the circumstances. He pushed himself on to his knees and rushed out of the tent before she could protest.

Caleb walked forward to the edge of the hill, running his hands through his hair. The snow and dead grass crunched brittle beneath his boots.

He'd done it. Finally. Leapt sixteen years back in time. Now only one more jump remained. His goal was so close, so tangible. His hands shook and his whole body felt weak and jittery like his legs might give out on him. Breathing in time, Caleb leaned against the gnarled tree, grabbing for his pendant.

His hand grasped at empty space.

Ah. Of course. It was still around Mollymauk's neck at this point. That was going to be a hard habit to break.

Caleb ran another sweaty hand through his hair, pushing it back. Mollymauk was unexpected.

He'd meant to land a day ahead from now, right before the assault on the Iron Shepherd's headquarters. From there, events would play out just as they had the first time and would allow him the opportunity to make his second jump in just several weeks.

Mental math in the form of magical runes scrolled through his head as he reviewed his spell, looking for the error. One day shouldn't change anything, but it did mean he would have to relive one of his darker memories.

The fluttering of wings broke his train of thought as an owl landed on a dead branch several feet above him. Caleb couldn't help his small smile as he offered his forearm to the bird. With ever-unnatural grace Frumpkin alighted on his arm, talons lightly gripping his thick jacket.

"It's nice to see you again, old friend," he mumbled, scratching the bird's neck. Frumpkin's presence calmed him, and his quiet panic slipped away in place of heavy exhaustion. To the east, the sky turned a lighter grey. It wouldn't be too long now before the Iron Shepherds crested the ridge.

He idly wondered if he should try casting Haste instead of Slow this time but shook the thought off quickly. Everything had to happen exactly the same or he risked starting a cascading chain of events that might prevent him from being able to make his second jump on time.

He glanced towards a space at the bottom of the hill where a grave would soon be erected in likely less than an hour. At that thought, the chill of the wind pierced him to his bones.

A hand grabbed on to his coat, causing him to jump and Frumpkin to take off into the air.

"Are you okay?" Nott asked.

Caleb could only give a rough laugh at that, but it was cool as the air around them. "Ja. Just thinking about the fight is all," he said.

Nott gave him a curious side-eye that he ignored in favor of staring out at the approaching snowstorm.

"Nerves?" she asked.

Caleb shook his head. "Didn't sleep well."

"Tell me about it," she said with a crooked grin, "Turns out Molly's a blanket hog and it sounded like Beau and Keg were having a snore-off. I feel bad for Jester," she said, smile falling as she referenced their kidnapped companion.

Caleb's stomach dropped at her name as well. He swallowed hard and shifted his weight, trying to appear casual. What would his younger self have said at this point?

He opened his mouth to speak, hoping words would supply themselves when a clear, mechanical alarm sounded in his head. His eyes flashed to Nott's who had already steeled her gaze, anticipating his next words.

"They're here."

In minutes their companions were roused, and the tent disassembled and shoved underneath a bush. Keg packed her supplies in silence while Molly unsheathed his swords, giving them an experimental twirl.

Beau yawned deeply, stretching out her muscled arms and cracking her back in the process. She looked so much younger. She was so much younger. Fewer frown lines, fewer scars. She caught Caleb watching her and gave him a nod before picking the Beacon up off the snow. She studied it for a moment before looking at the rest of her companions.

"Nott," she called, tossing the dodecahedron to the shorter woman. It wouldn't help her. Caleb reflexively glanced over to Molly, who was watching the meager sunrise with his back to them. His last sunrise.

He was less vibrant than Caleb remembered. It could've been attributed to the diffused grey lighting draining the world of color, but Caleb also knew after his passing they'd idealized him a little bit. He became a legend, an ideology to the Mighty Nein. Larger and brighter than life, but with someone like Mollymauk that wasn't hard to do.

Caleb bit down hard on his cheek, resisting the urge to offer guidance as Nott used the Beacon.

"Alright, I guess it's that time, huh?" Beau said, cracking her knuckles.

"Just like we planned," Molly said.

They split up, slinking across the uneven landscapes to their designated hiding spots. A pair of hands grabbed Caleb's elbow.

"Caleb," Nott whispered, and he reflexively leaned down to better hear her. "It everything goes shitty, I'm gonna throw my flask of oil on the first cart. Light it on fire," she said and broke away. Caleb watched her crawl into her log. It wouldn't help. None of these preparations would help.

With leaden feet and a churning gut, Caleb took his place behind the farthest bush. His memory was good, but this moment in time was burned into his head with crystal clarity—replayed for him in guilt-fueled nightmares for years. Exhaustion and the weight of his knowledge pressed down on his shoulders as he grimly prepared for a long-closed wound to reopen.

The Iron Shepherd's procession neared, the sound of their horses and carts breaking the frigid dawn.

The passed before him in a line. Lorenzo's hulking figure stormed by and Caleb clenched his knuckle until they turned bone white. A spark of anger lit beneath the exhaustion.

With a loud crack, the tree across the way split in half, crushing the axel of the first cart and trapping it.

He wanted to run, to close his eyes, to vomit, to rain down fire on their heads before the inevitable tragedy.

Instead, Caleb pulled out his ball of molasses from his component pouch and swiped vertically downward through the air. Warm and familiar magic surged around him and invisibly through space, coating the Iron Shepherds in thick enchantment. As soon as the last fragment of the spell left his fingertips, his heart shuddered and a stabbing pain erupted through his chest. He gasped, the air forced from his lungs, and fell to his knees.

Something was wrong. This didn't happen the first time. Something was wrong.

With ragged breathes Caleb pushed himself up to see Molly taking large slices out of the enemy druid from behind while Beau rained down calculated punches from the front.

Lorenzo's booming voice echoed out from the chaos. "Keg, I don't know what you're trying here," he said, voice casual and languid, "But I think the line's been drawn." He stepped back away from Molly, Beau, and Nott, positioning himself on the other side of the cart with a singular raised hand.

Molly and Beau ignored him to focus on their target, but Caleb's eyes were glued to Lorenzo. His mouth felt dry and he fought the urge to turn away at what came next.

An arrow flew through the air, pinning Molly in the shoulder and sending him stumbling back. His neck already dripped blood from his own arcane ritual, staining the white undershirt beneath. A second arrow whizzed by, catching his arm, cutting through his coat and through the purple bicep beneath. Molly snarled, spinning on the enemy bard attacking him.

Caleb lifted his hand instinctually, launching three burst of flames from his gauntlet, two of which connected with the bard in an eruption of flames.

A crossbow bolt from a different direction launched towards Caleb. He flicked his wrist in a practiced motion, and the bolt bounced off his magically shield with a rippling ' _thwung_ '.

His chest wrenched again like his ribs wanted to detach from his sternum and cave in to crush his insides. He clenched his head between his hands, trying to keep the bile down. His ears rang and a drop of blood dripped from his nose and dribbled onto his upper lip so he could taste the metal.

His muscles tremored, but Caleb pushed himself up again, forcing his eyes to focus on his friends just for Lorenzo to clench his open fist. A spray of ten-foot-tall icicles erupted from his hand, propelling their razor edges directly at his friends before Caleb could even cry out.

All three leapt out of the way, but the ice was faster, cutting and spearing at legs and torsos.

Lorenzo looked back at Keg, lazy smile drifting across his brutish features, repeating the words Caleb had heard in nightmares for months. "Am I gonna have to make a lesson here?" He looked to Nott. She noticed, and dived off the side of the cart, clinging to it out of his range while Beau cracked the druid across her temple, flooring her.

With miraculous agility, Beau leapt across the horse's back, landing on top of the far horse to face Lorenzo while Molly circled around to the other side. Molly's scimitars spun in the air, flicking an arc of blood in the air behind them before carving a large slice out of Lorenzo's torso.

The two men parted, momentum throwing them in opposite ways. Lorenzo spoke, but Caleb couldn't hear him over his own deafening heartbeat. Lorenzo's wicked glaive spun through the air as Molly prepared for the hit he wouldn't survive.

Faster than his own thoughts could process, Caleb pointed at Lorenzo, firing a spear of green lightning from a single shaking finger.

It collided with Lorenzo's broad back, hitting him square between the shoulder blades with a boom that shakes the ground. The magic tossed him like a ragdoll twenty, thirty feet in the air, sparking with green energy that devoured his body. Everyone, friend and enemy alike, paused to watch his arc with eyes wide and gaping mouths.

Then, Lorenzo hit the ground and exploded into a cloud of black ash.

At the same moment, Caleb's eyes rolled back into his head as he fell unconscious.

…

 _'_ _In Girum Imus Nocte et Consumimur Igni' besides being a pretentious Latin phrase I dug up, is both a palindrome and a riddle, the answer to which is 'moths'._

 _Anyways, this is my fun little coping method for the death of a fictional character and is being written right after episode 27, so I apologize if future canon information conflicts with some of this story—mostly lore and backstory stuff bc we're already knee deep in AU atm. I'm going to try my best though! 1 review = 1 more second Lorenzo suffered on his way out._


	2. The Curious Case of the Gelatin Skeleton

**Chapter Two:**

 **The Curious Case of the Gelatin Skeleton**

 _"_ _The stress of casting this spell to produce any effect other than duplicating another spell weakens you. After enduring that stress, each time you Cast a Spell until you finish a Long Rest, you take 1d10 necrotic damage per level of that spell. This damage can't be reduced or prevented in any way." - Dungeons & Dragons Player's Handbook, 5th Edition, pg 289._

…

Caleb opened his eyes to find himself staring straight up at a domed sky. With a glance to the side, he could see the fading sunset reflected off the white snow, dying everything a dizzying pink. He pressed his eyes shut again and groaned as a wave of unpleasant sensations washed over him. His head throbbed, temples squished between an invisible vice while a section on the back of his head radiated with a white-hot tenderness that Caleb could feel every beat of his heart in. Cringing, he twisted his body to take some of the pressure off the back of his head, pressing the side of his face against his patchwork pillow.

Not a pillow. Thighs.

He froze, eyes dragging up the length of the body to the face of one very alive Mollymauk Tealeaf.

"Morning, Sunshine. Had enough beauty sleep?" he asked with a cheeky grin that revealed his pointed teeth. His left eye was swollen and bruised, and a streak of dried blood trailed from his nose to his cheek—presumably where it had been wiped away at one point. Caleb could see the edges of white bandages peeking out from underneath his shirt where the arrows pierced him. The area above his heart was unstained and unbroken, absent of the ten-inch glaive wound that should have been there.

Caleb swallowed hard, pushing himself off Molly while the world teetered around him.

"Woah, take it easy now," Molly said, putting a warm hand on his shoulder to steady him.

As his vision cleared Caleb now saw that two of them sat in the front of a moving cart, backs propped against the front edge. Several other strangers of all species and walks of life lay scattered around them, unified only by their injuries and grim, set jaws. Near the edge sat Nila, the floppy-eared firbolg druid with a warm demeanor, tending to one of the wounded.

"Is Caleb awake?" called Nott's voice from ahead, voice heavy with concern.

Caleb groaned in response, still too busy taking inventory of his various aches and pains.

"Seems to be," Molly called back to Nott.

"Yo, Caleb, what the hell, man?" shouted Beau, also from ahead. He craned his neck slightly to see her with a bandaged arm, perched on top of one of the horses pulling the cart. "When'd ya learn that trick? You've been holding out on us this whole time."

Caleb reached for the heart-shaped necklace that wasn't there. He stopped himself mid-gesture and instead clasped his hands tightly to center himself. He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have used such a high-level spell. He shouldn't have saved Molly. But he did, and now he had to deal with it.

"I didn't know it would work," he responded with a hoarse voice before breaking into a coughing fit. Every wheeze sent phantom spikes of pain through his ribs, echoing the agony from earlier.

"Yeah, well, it would've been kinda nice to know you could just snap your fingers and turn people into a pile of fuckin' ashes this whole time," Beau called back.

"Leave him alone, Beau, he saved us," Nott chided, voice floating above the sound of the carts, horse hooves, and various murmured conversation.

Caleb rubbed his eyes, hands shaking slightly. "How long have I been out? Where are we?"

"Oh, just a short twelve hours," Molly said casually, smirking at him. "We're—"

"Is that Caleb?" a high-pitched voice with an unforgettable cadence rang out from further back. Caleb's stomach dropped at the sound. It'd been years since he heard that voice too. "Caleb," Jester repeated, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she ran forward to catch up with his cart. Her blue skin was paler than usual and she had a bandage wrapped around her forehead, but her bright eyes sparkled all the same. "Sorry I couldn't heal you all the way. I had to use a lot—a lot—of my magic to keep everyone from dying," she confessed conspiratorially.

"So…we beat them," Caleb concluded, trying to calculate the extent of the domino effect he'd triggered.

"Yeah, after you fried Lorenzo the rest of the Iron Shepherds kinda fell apart," Beau said. Molly hummed in agreement at that.

"Then Nott opened the cages and set us free," Jester added.

"It was a bit of a massacre at that point," Molly said, reclining back and lacing his hands behind his head. He cast a glance further back towards Fjord and Yasha who lead up the rear in quiet conversation, still covered in patches of the enemy's blood.

"Ah," Caleb could only say, twisting his hands in his lap. That explained the horses, carts, and large procession of strangers around them. "So, we're continuing to Shadycreek, then?"

"Mm-hm" Jester said with a nod. "We've got to go free the people still at their secret headquarters. Keg says there might be one or two more bad guys there, but then we're done," she said, absently twirling one of her sleeve ribbons around her thin fingers.

"Don't forget our mission," Molly pointed out.

"Oh, that too! Then we're done," Jester clarified, emphasizing the point by slapping an open palm with a closed fist. "But you have to promise to turn someone else into ash, again," she said, leaning towards him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

"Pardon?"

"I can't believe I missed it the first time," Jester complained, throwing out her bottom lip in a pout. She balled her hands into small fists. "Ooh, I wish Nott had released us sooner," she said, brow furrowed.

Molly gave a laugh, then immediately as a reaction groaned, pressing a hand to his bandaged shoulder. "Yeah, I wish that too," he managed, leaning back again and schooling his features. "It was a good fight. Got dicey for a second there though."

Caleb bit back a 'you have no idea'.

Molly and Jester continued their conversation which drifted off into less relevant topics as Caleb stared intently at his feet, trying to come to terms with the surreal experience of being trapped between two long-dead tieflings. They joked, flashing each other mischievous grins with jagged teeth, and occasionally Beau would add in some colorful commentary.

Above them the sky darkened as engorged clouds smothered the night sky, replacing the pink with grey then black. Lazy, drifting flakes floated down from the heavens on them. The refugees around them pulled their blankets and coats close, walking closer together for even the smallest amount of heat. Caleb shuddered and used the opportunity to pull his legs to his chest and bury his face in his knees. He took a shuddering breath.

He hadn't anticipated how hard this would be.

The spell he'd prepared for. He knew exactly what he was in for in that respect, but emotionally? Being surrounded by the voices and laughter of dead friends?

Nothing could have prepared him for that.

Every look, every sentence felt like being struck across the face, winding him and sending his gut churning. He wanted to laugh and weep in equal measure, but he couldn't afford to, so he settled for holding himself together in silence with white knuckles. He was trapped in an ocean. Dark and deep that leeched the warmth out of his body and left a cold husk behind. A hollow man with a thousand leagues pressing down on him. His mind ached under their oppressive weight.

A sturdy pat on the back broke his chain of thought and Caleb raised his head as the cart slowed to a stop.

Mollymauk flashed him a grin before pushing himself to his feet then stretching as best he could without disturbing his wound. "We're stopping for the night," he said, offering Caleb a hand.

Caleb stared at it for a second before inhaling deeply and taking it.

Molly's hand was pleasantly warm, and he seemed unbothered by the steadily increasing snowfall. One of the benefits of his infernal constitution, Caleb supposed. Once Caleb was steady in his footing, Molly released him and turned to help some of the other injured up. At the sudden absence of warmth and contact, Caleb clenched his empty fist, feeling even colder than before.

He shuffled off the cart, and the moment his boots pressed into the snow Nott was at his side.

"Are you okay, Caleb?" she mumbled, voice quiet amidst the chaos around them as everyone began unpacking the carts.

"Just tired," he said, offering her as much of a smile as he could muster.

"See, you say that but you just grimaced," she said with a frown, scanning him with narrowed eyes.

Caleb kept his face even despite the chill that went down his spine. Nott was perceptive and attuned to him. He couldn't let find out anything was wrong.

He needed to act more normal.

He had years of experience acting like things were fine.

He could do this.

"Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Shall we see what's for dinner?"

The entourage of about twenty people set up a makeshift camp at the foot of a hill that shielded them from at least a small portion of the wind and snow. Fjord and Yasha led the construction of a large bonfire in the center, which thankfully Caleb's magic wasn't needed for. The moment he settled down against the hill, Nott was there nestled beside him, watching him and the scene before them in turn with a careful gaze.

He sighed, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, indulging himself in the familiar boniness of her form. Though Nott still lived in his future-though technically now that specific future shouldn't happen-he hadn't seen her in several months at the time of his departure.

It was probably for the best.

Still, he couldn't help himself from scooting closer to the goblin and her soothing presence.

No words passed between them as they watched the snow fall—collecting on the people below. Yasha stood with Fjord and Molly several yards away, looking regal, statuesque and completely at home covered in a layer of snow. Molly was equally unaffected as the snow seemed to melt the moment the flakes touched him, leaving him curiously clean.

Fjord, on the other hand, hunched over bundled up as tightly with Jester's traveling cloak wrapped around him like an old woman's shawl. It barely covered his biceps.

Further off Jester walked around the camp with Nila, probably administering aid as they were able.

"Sup," came a voice as Beau plopped herself down on Caleb's other side. He stiffened on instinct before forcing himself to relax. She offered Caleb and Nott a set of bundled rations in one hand while using the other to take an enormous bite of her own. Nott snatched hers eagerly, barely taking the time to remove the paper and twine before the food disappeared inside her wide mouth. Caleb picked at his, nibbling here and there, still feeling his stomach churn uneasily.

"So," Beau started, politely navigating her mouthful of food into her cheeks before continuing, "That sort of fainting thing happen often?"

Caleb shook his head. "Not usually."

Beau frowned at that. "So…is it something that we should be worried about?"

"Not particularly."

"Caleb," Beau said flatly, staring him down. He managed to meet her gaze without flinching.

"I cast powerful magic and overextended myself is all. Didn't rest well last night. I just need a little sleep and I'll be fine."

Beau gnawed at her jerky, taking periodic glances back at him. She opened her mouth, and Caleb braced himself for the next round of questions.

"You know we're just worried about you, dude," Beau said, staring ahead at the fire. "You've looked pale today."

"I am pale."

Beau rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"It's more of an I-just-saw-a-ghost kind of pale," Nott added with a quick side-eye before returning to licking the last of the crumbs off her wrapper.

Caleb snorted at that, indulging himself in a fatalistic grin for just a moment before continuing, "The battle," he began, drawing the attention of both women. "Was kind of intense, ja? For a second it seemed like…"

"Molly was a goner?" Beau supplied.

"We were all going to die?" Nott said.

Caleb nodded, casting his glance to the dancing flames ahead. "Something like that."

Beau finished her rations and sat in silence for several minutes.

"I mean," she started slowly, chewing on her words, "it can always go wrong, can't it? I guess it'd be good if we kept that in mind a little more from now on."

Caleb angled his head in the barest nod.

"Still," Beau went on, lacing her calloused fingers together, "we made it out okay again, Caleb, mostly thanks to you."

At that Nott tilted her head inwards, resting it beneath Caleb's armpit and humming in agreement.

"You'll drive yourself crazy if you're always thinking about what could've happened," Beau said, leaning in to place her chin on top of her knees.

Caleb, even after knowing Beau for sixteen years, continually found himself surprised by her wisdom. "Thank you, Beauregard," he said quietly. Though in this circumstance he wasn't worried about what could have happened, he was worried about what did happen and what would happen now.

The three of them stared into the fire. Beau and Nott succumbed to sleep quickly, but aimless thoughts swirled around in Caleb's head without end or purpose—like scraps of driftwood stuck in a tidepool. What had he done? What would he do now? Had he self-sabotaged again past the point of repair?

Sleep eluded Caleb while he sat still in his anxious trance, eyes locked ahead on the fire. In his periphery, he vaguely registered the rest of the camp settle down and group together for warmth.

Fjord came over with a large yawn that flashed the nubs of his filed tusks. He gave Caleb an acknowledging nod before seating himself down next to Nott and throwing a thick arm around her and Caleb's shoulders. The gesture was comforting, despite being a transparent attempt to siphon warmth. Fjord was comforting. Having a leader, someone to make decisions, and start conversations that wasn't Caleb was a relief.

"Thanks, Caleb," Fjord said, voice low as to not wake the others.

Caleb raised an eyebrow.

"For getting us out of that…predicament. Had that encounter gone south it would've been…"

"Difficult," Caleb supplied, and Fjord nodded appreciatively.

"Difficult," he repeated.

Caleb looked at the half-orc. He looked so young. So much younger than Clabe remembered. "It's good to have you back," Caleb said in a whisper, unable to speak any louder without danger of his voice cracking.

"Good to be back," Fjord said with a warm smile, resting his head back against the hill behind them, missing Caleb's layered meaning. Without any further conversation between them, Fjord's eyes fluttered closed.

Almost as soon as Fjord's eyes shut, Jester approached with Nila. She winked at Caleb with a cheeky grin and sparkling eyes before seating herself next to Fjord, going as far as to swing her legs over his while Nila settled on her other side. Fjord didn't move, but Caleb swore he saw the man's face color just slightly, but it could've just been the frigid air driving the blood to his face.

The rest of the refugees scattered around them grouped in their own pods stilled, one by one, until the only movement was the dancing flames.

In the far distance above the crackling fire he could see the hazy outlines and Molly and Yasha, taking first watch over the peaceful camp. Somewhere high above, Frumpkin circled.

Caleb sat there with the weight of three people pressed in on him and the fire before him. Things were bad but...This was…good. He inhaled deeply, catching the smell of their collective sweat, grime, and even a tinge of blood. The smelled like people. Messy, living, breathing people.

He rested his head back on Fjord's arm and sighed. When he made his next jump in time, all of this would be erased, both the good version and the bad. This was all meaningless, but…it couldn't be so bad if he enjoyed it. The connection, the family. Just for the night. A stolen moment that would mean nothing in the grand scheme of things that only he would remember.

Just tonight, Caleb supposed, he could allow himself to be selfish.

…

Morning arrived with the grace and tenderness of a slap to the face.

He groaned and shook his shoulders to dislodge the dusting of snow that'd settled there.

"Wha' time isit?" Beau slurred, pinching her eyes closed to better reject the daylight.

Caleb glanced upwards to the sky. The snow-laden clouds vanished overnight and left a heavy sky in their wake.

"About seven'ish."

Beau moaned then pulled her jacket closer and curled into Yasha, who sat on her other side. The tall woman rolled her eyes but in a good-natured way.

Yasha pushed herself up, rousing Molly, then came Beau, then Nott, Fjord, Jester, and Nila. One by one they rose from their slumber, shaking the cold off as best they could. Caleb pushed himself up last with a heavy sigh. The second his legs took his weight they buckled.

"Woah now," Molly said as he grabbed him by the coat.

Caleb cursed and grabbed Molly's arm with shaking hands to support himself.

Nott jumped to his side, slinking under his arm on the other side and putting her arm around his waist to take the other half of his weight. "What's wrong?" She asked while her reptilian eyes scanned him for wounds.

"Good question," Molly said.

"Just tired," Caleb mumbled, staring at a point on the ground as he tried to force his legs to support him, but again his legs crumpled. He made a lackluster attempt to push his friends off, but his limbs might as well have been made of wet paper.

"That's more than lost sleep, my friend," Molly said with a skeptic eyebrow raised. "Hey, Jester," he called, gesturing with his head for the woman to come in their direction.

He heard the rhythmic crunching of snow as Jester skipped over, but he refused to lift his gaze to meet her or anyone's eyes.

"Caleb?" She asked with a small, confused frown, cocking her head to the side. "Are you hurt again?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Well, so are we but we can still walk," Nott said.

"Ughhh, it's so early in the morning," Jester said, letting her shoulders sag at the thought. "Okay okay," she said and cracked her neck. With a gentle slap, she captured Caleb's face between her two open palms. Goosebumps erupted across his arms at the contact. Jester leaned in with narrowed, skeptical eyes while Nott and Molly pinned him and supported him in equal turns.

"Is this necessary?" he managed while she pressed his cheeks together.

"Stop," she softly smacked his face, "hurting," another smack, "yourself," smack, "Caleb" she finished. With each touch, he felt a spark of soothing magic weave through his body. Jester's magic twisted and curled like vines. It grew through his flesh, winding around his bones, and blossoming at the sites of injuries. The numb of the cold lifted, taking the headache, and tender bruises with it. Even the static cleared from his head. Mostly.

"Thank you, Jester," Caleb said with soft but genuine gratefulness.

She nodded and planting her hands on her hips. "Promise me you can go a day without healing," she said with the same tone one would use to chastise a puppy for teething on the rug.

Caleb's face grew hot in embarrassment and he looked straight down at his feet, half-buried in the snow. He let his dirty hair fall forward in front of him, hopefully concealing his expression. "Ja."

With a nod, Jester walked off to help load the cart and Molly looked to Nott. "Alright, shall we set him free?"

She nodded, and the pair cautiously released their hold on his waist.

Caleb stood on his own. He straightened his back and looked around camp in a meager attempt to salvage his dignity. Before his knees began to knock. And he collapsed into Molly' arms. Again.

"Caleb?" Nott asked, a twinge of panic in her voice.

"Why didn't Jester's healing work? Caleb, what's going on?" Mollymauk asked.

"Well, the truth is that was my first time casting that spell," Caleb said, "I wasn't prepared for the price. I really am just tired." Jester cured his aches and pains, but she couldn't do anything about his fatigue. Hopefully it was a temporary thing.

"Maybe we don't use that spell for a bit then, alrighty?" Molly asked then patted him on the back. "Yasha, a little help?"

Yasha walked over, and despite Caleb's meager protests, she took him from Molly's arms and lifted him as if he were filled with straw and carried him all the way over to the cart from yesterday with the rest of the wounded. Shortly after, the procession departed from their campsite and Caleb resigned himself to his humiliating fate.

He leaned his head back on the edge of the cart, glancing at the other occupants. Three were human, one half-elf, one dwarf, and one dragonborn, with no correlation to gender, age, or apparent wealth or strength. Their shoulders sagged, limbs haphazardly strewn around the cart with tired eyes. Caleb hoped he didn't look as defeated as they did.

He'd gained so many skills in the past sixteen years. He could command lighting and fire, conjure buildings from air, and kill a man with a thought, but nothing in his arsenal could cure excessive weariness. Ridiculous.

Pathetic.

Maybe he should focus on remedying that. That idea of having some distracting magical task to hyper-focus on sent a new spark of vitality down his spine and he began to rifle through his own pockets. He emptied everything out and spread it before his crossed legs on the floor of the cart.

How strange it was to not know what you would find in your own pockets. Caleb idly wondered if Mollymauk experienced this same phenomenon when he'd popped out of his first grave.

In the end, his inventory returned: several books, including his spell book, the sending stone, his component pouch, two spell scrolls, a dagger, his Amulet of Proof Against Detection and Location, a handful of other generally worthless miscellanea, and a pitiful amount of coin.

But the last thing he found gave him pause.

He pulled his fist out of his pocket and opened his fingers to reveal a rough grey stone about the size of a strawberry. With a small grin, he tossed it into the air and caught it. Now that was something.

Caleb took several deep breaths to center himself, then sandwiched the stone between both palms, locking his fingers around it in a tight grip. He brought his closed hands to his lips and whispered an incantation. The heat of his own breath made his skin tickle, then the stone went cold, feeding off his warmth. He set his hands down in his lap, never opening them.

The sun rose higher, fighting down the past day's chill, and thawing the crystalline grasslands until they were covered in sparkling dew. By noon Caleb's hands began to cramp, but the sight of the mountains looming blue in the distance helped him keep his mind off the ache.

In time their caravan passed into the shadow of the mountain and out of the sun's fleeting warmth. Caleb's stone felt even colder in his hands as he fought down a chill. Conversations quieted as their party passed through the jagged canyon mouth. The rock walls rose high above them like tidal waves above to crash, and the winding path upset his stomach further.

Ahead he heard Fjord smooth-talking his way past the gate without paying the outrageous toll for every single person with them. The heavy gates shut behind them with a heavy clang that reverberated around the rock face. He twisted his neck to look ahead, already knowing what he'd see.

In the open, circular maw of the black mountain range spanned a forest with sharp jutting pines that speared the sky with sickly grey-purple leaves. Against the dirty river before their procession building were haphazardly stacked as if they'd been tossed by giants, landing at odd angles with broken windows and roofs sagging under the snow. Shadycreek Run.

They passed over a bridge that creaked under their weight and into the town. At that point, their march ended. The other refugees started to gather themselves and their few possessions. They kept their eyes down with their shoulders hunched. Caleb watched them scatter, some in groups some alone, into the mess of buildings or into the sticky shadows of the impending forest. In the end, there was only a handful of strangers remaining, mostly the injured and those who looked too lost or nervous to survive Shadycreek Run without protection.

Keg led them to The Landlocked Lady—the Mardun's pub with the ridiculous ship's bow sticking out of it. They secured their horses then Fjord, Jester, Keg, and Molly proceeded into the inn while Yasha, Beau, Nila, and Nott started to help the injured out of the cart.

Yasha reached him last. She towered over him and offered him a hand.

Caleb grimaced. "Sorry, I'm kind of in the middle of something," he said, offering his clasped hands as if she'd understand. "Is there any way you could-?"

"Oh, yeah sure," she said quietly, locking her large hands beneath his arms and lifting him like a child. She set him down gently into the mud, where he sank several inches with a sickening squelch.

Steadying himself, Caleb took a step forward. His legs felt like gelatin, but they held. Some of the tension drained out of his body at that, and Nott soon joined him, coming up close to his side in an attempt to help support his weight disguised as a casual gesture.

"What are you doing with the stone?" she asked.

"I can show you in a couple hours."

She nodded at that as they entered the tavern.

During his time doing…less scrupulous work, Caleb had known of a blacksmith who minted gold pieces that she would use herself and they would enter circulation. By the time the thin gold coating wore off to reveal the iron beneath the coins had traveled so far it was impossible to trace them back to her. Or so she thought.

The Landlocked Lady was gold-plated iron. A regal finish on rotting bones that wore at the seams. Champ—the greasy owner—stood behind the bar in conversation with the rest of their party, and as Caleb and Nott neared they heard the last snippets of the conversation.

"If this is pressing business you are more than welcome to summon them at the estate as I know not how often they pass through," Champ said, leaning forward with an expression that looked more like a grinning carnival mask than a display of actual emotion. He chuckled. "In the meantime, you said you wished for rooms and company? How many?" he asked, surveying the group with a hungry expression.

"Give us one second." Keg pulled them aside for a series of whispered concerns about Champ, which ended with Nila sniffing her pouch to the confusion of the rest of the party, only to encourage them to visit the Marduns. Upon behest of the curious party, the bag was passed around for everyone, including Champ to smell. Caleb politely declined. He remembered the pungent earthen smell well enough from the first go around.

They paid for four rooms that were divided out to the usual roommate sets. Caleb hung near the stairwell. His head was beginning to throb again, and his joints ached from being jostled for hours on the wooden cart. He gave the room a final glance. Jester was engaged in conversation with Champ, both laughing in turn. How she could stomach the man he didn't know. Still, Fjord and Molly hovered nearby with tankards in their own conversation, keeping an eye on Jester.

Ghosts. Every one of them. Phantom wisps of his memory brought to life by magic just to torment him a little more. Drive the dagger a little deeper into his bleeding heart. Magic was like that sometimes. Capricious and cruel. Especially old magic. It forced you to pay a toll then took even more from you by force.

Feeling ill, Caleb turned away from his friends and headed upstairs. Maybe he was the ghost. The piece that didn't belong in a happier past.

He opened the door to his room to find a little goblin woman curled up in the corner of the bed. Golden chains wrapped around her crooked fingers as she picked a knot apart with a thin nail.

Caleb settled on the bed across from her, hands still clasped.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, looking up.

Caleb rested his head back against the wall and let his eyes trail along the crumbling crown molding. "Overwhelmed."

"About the Iron Shepherds?"

"Mm."

"I mean things should be easier now, right?" She studied his face. "With Lorenzo dead."

"Mm."

She opened her mouth to speak again, words hanging in her mouth for a brief moment as she chewed her thoughts. "Is...there something else?"

The question rang out in the quiet room. Faint muffled conversations and the scrape of chair legs leaked through the cracking walls and floorboards from what felt like miles away. The stone in Caleb's hand grew warm then, saving him from having to provide an answer.

He crawled forward on the bed, offering his clenched fist up for Nott to see. She leaned in, curiosity overtaking her for the moment.

With a small smile, Caleb unfurled his fists, revealing his prize.

Nott looked up to him then back down at the rock with a blank expression. "It's…a very good rock, Caleb. I'm proud of you." She patted him gently on the shoulder.

Caleb snorted. "It's a Transmuter's Stone," he said, looking at the very plain, ordinary-looking rock in his palm. "I've spent these past hours imbuing it with magic. It can do many things, but most notably it can help me maintain my spells in battle."

Nott's eyes lit up. "Caleb, that's wonderful," she said, with genuine enthusiasm this time.

He nodded and placed the stone in one of his deeper, interior pockets where it was less likely to fall out or be stolen. It could do several, even more powerful things, but perhaps those options were best left for emergencies only.

A scratching sounded at the window, and Nott hoped off the bed to let Frumpkin in. The familiar alighted on the back of a wooden chair, surveying the room with round, yellow eyes that reminded him of Nott's.

"Are you going to turn him back into a cat?" Nott asked, looking from the owl to him.

"Soon, hopefully," Caleb said. He preferred Frumpkin as a cat. Frumpkin preferred to be a cat. But Caleb had also taken inventory of his coin purse and magical components today and knew he needed to save his resources to turn Frumpkin into a spider tomorrow night.

He idly wondered if they'd meet Caduceus now in this timeline. That could change things. Should he try and convince the party to make the trek to Caduceus's graveyard? They had no reason to now. Molly was alive and their cleric was back.

Caleb interlocked his fingers to keep them from tapping his thigh in a nervous rhythm as the darkness settled in outside. All he could do now was keep his head down and make sure everything else went exactly to plan.

…

 _Caleb, an Olympic medalist in compartmentalizing his trauma, now having to pretend like everything is still fine: I've been training my whole life for this moment._

 _Thank you guys so much for your kudos and comments. Both the TAZ & CR fandoms in my experience are just so generous with their affection and enthusiasm it really warms my cold, unbeating heart and brightens my days. _

_Anyways, I'm trying to not read anymore widomauk fic while I write this so I'm not accidentally too influenced by anyone else, but that being said I'd love some fic recs to have in the wings for after I finish this, so please drop some titles and authors in the comments for me to hoard._


	3. In Which Caleb Regrets More Than Usual

**Chapter Three:**

 **In Which Caleb Regrets More Things Than Usual**

 _"_ _The best laid schemes o' mice an' men_

 _Gang aft a-gley,_

 _An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,_

 _For promised joy"_

…

Brittle rays of light streamed through the slats in the crooked shutters, illuminating the fog of dust the coated the room. Caleb blinked the sleep out of his eyes, trying and failing to pierce the heavy shadows hanging in the corners. Nott was already gone and Frumpkin rested silently on the chair.

The bars of light fell onto the center of the floor. Noon?

Caleb groaned and pushed himself upright. It wasn't supposed to be noon. Just another thing out of place. Theoretically, all of these little instances of change shouldn't affect how the next few events played out, but the doubt was enough to make Caleb feel uneasy.

He pulled himself out of bed only to find his legs still shook under his weight. With a scowl, Caleb leaned against the wall and used it to support himself as he made his way downstairs.

The tavern showed its wear in the light of day. The scrapped-up floor and the worn table edges lain bare in the feeble noonday sun. A handful of strangers and refugees dotted the mostly-empty tavern, sticking close to the walls, except for Molly, who was perched at the bar with Keg, listening to the morning bartender, Kilen.

Using various tables and chair heads to steady himself, Caleb arrived at the bar, leaning on the wooden surface.

"Ah, a late sleeper," Kilen said at his arrival, staring down at him with a twinkle in his eye that reminded him of Jester.

Caleb turned to Molly and Keg. "Where is everyone?"

"Kilen, can we get my shaky friend here some breakfast?" Molly asked, pushing the vacant stool out next to him with the toe of his boot and encouraging Caleb to have a seat.

Caleb obliged, taking a seat and locking his hands together in his lap to conceal just how unsteady he was.

"Right away," Kilen said with a nod, vanishing into the kitchen in back. The inn was quiet save for the distant murmurs of conversation and the occasional clinking of pans from the back. There was no one around to overhear.

Molly leaned forward in his stool, resting his arm on the bar and cupping his cheek in his hand watching Caleb. The fingers on his other hand drummed a silent rhythm against the bar.

Caleb shrunk under the scrutiny, focusing blankly ahead. "Where is everyone," He repeated, trying to keep his voice even.

"The Mardun's estate," Keg said while staring into her tankard with a frown.

Caleb reeled. "What?" The word came out more like a hiss than language.

"Well, Nott and Jester thought you deserved a rest," Molly said.

"Also you can't walk," Keg added, and Molly gave a shrug in agreement.

Caleb opened his mouth to protest, but the door slammed open. A menagerie of colorful, familiar bodies flowed in just as Kilen popped out of the kitchen with a plateful of food.

"Morning, Sleepyhead," Jester called with a blinding grin. Kilen set a plate of eggs down in front of him with a side of bacon. The rest of the Mighty Nein plus Nila filled in around them, pulling up chairs and stools.

"Productive morning?" Molly asked.

"Yeah, I'd say so," Fjord said. "Ophelia was…interesting to say the least."

"Have you met her before, Molly?" Nott asked, pushing her way past Beau and Yasha. "She's a tiefling too."

The party groaned at that, and Beau elbowed Nott in the ribs.

"You know, I can't say I've had the pleasure," Molly said.

"What did you learn from Ophelia?" Caleb asked, steering the conversation back on track.

Jester stepped in and relayed information Caleb already knew from the first time around along with a happy helping of superfluous details only someone like Jester would bother recounting. Around them the other members of the Mighty Nein ordered lunch.

Caleb ran his hand through his dirty hair as she finished. This shouldn't change anything. This shouldn't change anything. But—"The Sour Nest," he blurted. "Did you—"

"Oh yeah," Jester said, realization dawning on her, "We also snuck over there and checked the place out."

"Ah, and how did that go?" Caleb asked, swallowing hard. They didn't have Frumpkin with them for recon. How did—

"Oh, it was so amazing, Caleb," Jester said, grabbing his arm as her excitement grew. "Nila turned into a little mouse, and I used my Blessing of the Trickster and—" Jester kept speaking, but Caleb couldn't hear her over his own thoughts. He had changed things. Saving Molly changed things. Started a domino effect he likely couldn't stop. Right now it shouldn't affect his end goal, but the changes kept getting larger and larger. Spiraling out of his control until—

"Caleb?" Nott asked quietly, putting a reassuring hand on his thigh while stealing his bacon with the other hand.

Caleb took a shuddering breath and threw together a front of composure. "Sorry, I just, well, I woke up and you were gone. And then I find out I've been left behind during an important mission, and…" Caleb sighed, resting his head in his hands.

"We just didn't want anything happening to our wizard is all," Molly supplied, still leaning on the bar.

"It should be an easy job now, ja? Now that Lorenzo and his cronies are dead," Caleb said, unable to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

"Apparently, it's just a handful of guards and maybe a magic user," Fjord said from a nearby table. "Shouldn't take too long. Though we should probably wait until this evenin' to avoid trouble with the…authorities."

Keg snorted. "If you can call them that."

"If you're not feeling up to it maybe…" Nott began but broke off when Caleb met her gaze with narrowed eyes.

"I'm going. Frumpkin is important for recon. I have spells that—"

"Knock you unconscious," Beau called, and he shot her a scathing look.

"Even if I'm not engaged with combat, I think it's still important that I be there. With the team," he said, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckled whitened beneath the dirty bandages. "I want to—I can contribute."

"If it gets too dangerous I'm dragging you out," Nott said quietly.

Caleb laughed once at that, but there was no warmth in the sound. Now she was the one trying to get him to leave, and he was the one who wanted to stay. This timeline was already hopelessly backward.

…

The stench of blood, sweat, and musk filled the hot air as bodies careened around narrow stone passages. Caleb pressed himself into the cold rock as an armored guard rocketed past with an arrow sticking out of her shoulder, racing towards the exit of The Sour Nest.

With a sharp inhale he focused energy in the centers of his palms, which ignited in a burst of orange-white flame. He hurled the first ray at the fleeing guard, but it went a foot wide. Caleb cursed and lobbed the second which slammed into the back of her knees, throwing her to the ground. The final ray crashed into the back of her head in an explosion of fire, and then the guard went still. Caleb flexed his hand. He needed to get used to casting with all his fingers again.

Frumpkin dropped from the ceiling and landed on his shoulder in the form of a spider just as Nott, Yasha, and Molly spirited around the corner with weapons raised. The group skidded to a halt upon seeing the guard's body.

"Care to leave any for the rest of us?" Molly asked with a grin, spinning his swords in a practiced circle that flicked the blood off the silvery edges.

"What's going on further down?" Caleb asked the group.

"This place just keeps going down," Nott said, retrieving her crossbow bolt from the corpse with a hearty yank. "Every time we think we've found the bottom there's another floor."

"Have you been checking for traps?" Caleb asked.

"Yes," she said while Molly shook his head 'no'.

Caleb sighed. "Maybe I should—"

The fortress shook, sending a rain of dust down on their heads. An unearthly screech pierced the air, forcing the four of them to cover their ears. A black tendril clipped through the floor inches away from Caleb's shoe before disappearing back into the stone as if it were water.

The screeching stopped but left their ears ringing.

"I'm coming with you," Caleb said.

"But you're guarding the entrance," Nott said, stepping between him and the passage leading downwards. "It's a very important job."

"I'm fine, Nott," he said, gesturing to the singed guard with his head.

Nott opened her mouth to protest, but Molly beat her to it. "Just let him come, Nott. They're all small fries anyway. He's fine."

Caleb nodded to Molly appreciatively, who returned the gesture with a wide grin. That was the Mollymauk he remembered, taking everything in stride.

With a flourish of blades and a dramatic swish of his technicolor coat, Molly turned back towards the staircase. Yasha, Nott, and Caleb trailed behind with weapons ready. Upon descending the staircase, Yasha took the lead. Her large stature and equally significant sword made the walls seem like they were pressing down on them. A living organism intent on crushing them to paste.

Caleb wiped the sweat of his brow with the sleeve of his coat. His mind furiously worked at constructing a mental map of the dungeon from his memories as they took the stairs two at a time. He could construct bits and pieces, but all the halls looked the same and though his memory was immaculate, photographic even, creating something out of fragments of memory from sixteen years ago was on a level of its own.

Yasha led them past some scattered corpses before they turned into a room with several iron cages. They didn't pause, but Caleb saw Nila in the corner, hugging her child and partner close with tears in her eyes. Good. That was good. At least something was going right.

They flew down another set of stairs. At the bottom, a guard sprinted past with a giant, spectral lollypop riding her heels. Jester ran past, shrieking in delight, with Keg, encumbered by her heavy armor following behind. Another boom shook the castle, almost causing Caleb's feet to slip out from under him as they reached the flat surface.

"Fjord's around the other side," Keg shouted as she and Jester disappeared around the corner to their right.

Their party of four swept around to the left side as directed to find a small room where Fjord battled two guards. Another figure, gaunt and familiar with a shock of white hair, circled the guards from the other sides. Caleb actually grinned at the sight of the old man. It'd been years since he'd seen Shakäste.

Black, eldritch tentacles writhed around Fjord, snatching the closer guard by the ankle and hoisting him into the air. Yasha stepped forward, and the tendrils clung to her. She plowed through them like they were paper, and with a large swing of her greatsword, bisected the dangling guard.

The other guard screamed at the carnage, backing up straight into an ethereal statue that bowled him down. The spiritual effigy landed heavy on his head with a sickening crunch that sent a chill up Caleb's spine.

"Fancy meeting you here," Molly called to Shakäste as he skirted around Fjord's evaporating tentacles.

"Where's Jester and Keg?" Fjord asked as the last of his spell dispersed into thick black smoke.

"They went on ahead," Yasha said. Behind them, a loud cranking noise sounded out as the barred gate began to rise. Everyone turned, readying their weapons as two more figures stepped out. One appeared to be another nameless hired guard, but the second one was robed in maroon and held a glowing crystal orb aloft.

Caleb mentally prepared to dispel whatever the caster was planning, but Yasha stepped in his way with her sword. It dripped crimson onto the stone floor as the runes on the hilt began to glow.

"Catch up with Jester," she said. "We've got this."

Caleb, even after knowing her for so many years, still wasn't in the habit of arguing with the large woman, so he slipped out of the room followed by Nott. Molly hesitated for a moment, looking from Yasha to Caleb and Nott.

Noticing his apprehension, Yasha nodded at the door. "Go."

Shakäste threw his magical statue at the enemies as the caster shouted an unfamiliar incantation. The guard dodged the statue and it collided with the stone wall, sending shrapnel shooting across the room.

Molly ducked out of the way and bolted towards the exit. He gave Yasha a quick slap on the ass on his way out. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called over his shoulder as he joined Caleb and Nott in the doorframe.

Nott led them this time, scampering around bodies and corners with a speed Molly easily matched but left Caleb several paces behind. They reached the other end of the floor with no signs of Jester and Keg besides a trail of smashed corpses in their wake.

"I guess we're going down again then," Nott said, gesturing at the staircase. There was a warm glow at the bottom from a source they couldn't see. Caleb stiffened as a memory clicked into place.

He cursed, jumping past Molly and Nott and taking the stairs three, four at a time.

"Hey, where's the fire?" Nott called, running after him.

"Downstairs," Caleb shot back, landing on the solid ground with a force that made him stumble into the opposing wall.

His friends landed at his side, but he pushed onwards while ignoring the calls of concern. The warm light grew brighter and Caleb could hear the roar of flames and the raw heat emanating from down the hall. The heat haze distorted the patterns on the stonework, making the world feel off kilter. Sweat poured down his neck into his heavy coat and his damp bangs clung to his forehead.

Caleb rounded to corner to find a room burning. The heat scalded his face and he had to close his eyes from the light. Blind, he lifted his hands and sent a surge of magic towards into the opposite corner of the room. The flame died with a loud 'whoosh', sending the last vestiges scattering across the ceiling.

"Jester!" Nott cried, racing past Caleb's legs to the figure bent against the wall.

Jester peeled herself off the wall, revealing Keg who she'd pinned there. Jester coughed, wiping some of the soot off her face. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she insisted as Nott reached her.

"What was that?" Mollymauk asked, strolling into the room and inspecting the blackened scorch marks.

"A trap," Caleb said through labored breaths. He leaned back against the wall, still warm with heat, trying to take in as much air as he could. His body felt weak after the exertion and the room was swimming. He closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his bearings. How could he have forgotten? Without Caduceus, he had to be the one to dispel the trap.

To his left, he heard Jester healing Keg, who thanked her with a voice rough from smoke and pain.

"I think I'm just gonna sit the rest of this out," Keg said, breaking into a coughing fit.

"Understandable," Molly said. "What about you Jester?"

"Oh, I'm okay, but I think my dress is ruined." Caleb could hear the pout in her voice.

"I'm sure we can find you one you like even more," Molly said.

"Maybe we should continue forward," Caleb said, opening his eyes at last. "There can't be much more, and I'm ready to be done with this place."

"Agreed," Molly said and looked to the rest of the group.

Nott nodded and Jester dusted more of the ash off her clothes. "Will you be alright here, Keg?" she asked.

Keg gave her a weak thumbs up before resting her head back against the stone and closing her eyes. Jester's fire-resistant body had shielded her form most of the damage but wearing full metal plate in a burning room can't have been comfortable.

Caleb sent Frumpkin ahead to scout who revealed the room below was the final layer of the dungeon where two more guards lied in wait for them along with a caster.

"We could wait for Fjord, Yasha, and Shakäste," Caleb said, arms crossed. Mentally he reviewed his spells, trying to figure out what he could use to finish this quickly without revealing his overpowered hand to his compatriots.

"I'm sure we'll be fine. We outnumber them, and you've got to admit no one's been much of a challenge here," Molly said.

"Unless you're feeling tired, Caleb," Nott began. "Then—"

"Let's go," Caleb said. He flicked his hand over his body, calling forth magic to swirl around him in layers of protective wards.

Nott frowned at that, furrowing her brows. "Okay, but maybe I can at least make a distraction," she said. She put a clawed hand out in front of her. A figure flickered into existence, frayed and hazy at the edges, but it could almost pass for the real thing. A replica of Lorenzo towered above them and Caleb had to suppress a shudder at the hulking visage.

"Oh, that's really cool, Nott!" Jester said in a hushed voice.

"So we send the fake Lorenzo downstairs, and while they're distracted we attack," Nott said. It was the barest husk of a plan, but it was better than nothing.

Nott directed the illusory Lorenzo down the stairs, where he took each step in utter silence.

"Oh, let me help," Jester said. She lifted her hands and her eyes went jet black. The stones shook beneath Lorenzo's steps, and his armor clattered loudly as he stepped down—though it was slightly out of time with the illusion.

Molly motioned them forward after Lorenzo. Nott followed him in his footsteps with Jester next then finally Caleb.

"Boss? Boss is that you?" One of the guards called out as Lorenzo stepped into their view, surveying the room with a predatory swing of his head. He took several clanking steps forward.

Molly and Nott progressed down the crooked stone steps with near-feline silence and grace, which Jester matched just as easily. Caleb's feet, however, were clumsy beneath him, and his boots scraped against the rock with every step.

Jester turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder to both stop and steady him. "I bless y—y—" she paused, face eyes narrowing and face distorting. Caleb rushed to cover her mouth, but she let out a massive:

"ACHOOOO!" She sneezed a friendly helping of snot into Caleb's open hands. Her shrill sneeze echoed around the room. Lorenzo went silent.

"Hey, what was that?" a guard asked.

"Shit, move!" Molly hissed, springing out into the open and doing a dodge roll to the opposite wall.

Nott yelped, jumping out after him and hooking left instead, causing the fake Lorenzo to fizzle out.

Caleb pushed past the reeling Jester with a shudder, wiping his snot-drenched hands on his coat before diving across the open gap. A crossbow bolt whizzed past him, missing his shoulder by inches before embedding itself in the wall.

Nott released a volley of her own towards the crossbow-wielding guard while the second guard rushed Molly with a mace. Behind him, the spellcaster, a human woman in her 50's with a shaved head covered in neon-green tattoos, flickered her wrist and her body disappeared into a shimmering blur.

Molly evaded the mace guard's attack, swinging around to carve deep gashes into the woman's arm and shoulder while Nott launched another barrage against the guardsman attacking her. Caleb snatched a piece of iron out of his component pouch and held it before him in a clenched fist. Energy rocketed through the air to surround the sorcerer and two guards in a vice-like grip.

The sorcerer raised her hand, slicing the invisible magic in two where it dissipated uselessly. Caleb scowled. Was that how she was playing then?

"Fine, let's play," Caleb grumbled, digging through his pouch again.

Another crossbow bolt jetted towards Nott, but Jester broke from her cover and deflected it with her shield with a loud 'clang'. It bounced off towards Caleb, who ducked underneath it.

"Sorry, Caleb!" Jester called, already focused on the guardsman in front of her.

In front of him, the guardswoman took another swing at Molly, but his boot caught on the stone as he dodged, and her swing connected with his ribs with a loud crunch, sending him lurching backward into Caleb. Just as the two collapsed into a pile, the sorcerer flicked her wrist, and a jet of flame burst out of her open palm that grew into an inferno. Molly and Caleb scrambled up, but were too slow to fully dodge the wall of fire that rammed into them.

"That's a neat trick," Molly said, coughing, as they stumbled out of the fire that now separated them from Jester and Nott.

"I've seen better," Caleb said, throwing off his smoldering coat.

"Care to demonstrate?" Molly asked as the guardswoman rounded on him.

"Absolutely," Caleb said, finally digging the licorice root out of his bag. He directed a wave of magic towards Molly, who visibly perked up at the change. "Time to pick up the pace."

The guardswoman swung again, and Molly flipped out of the way with ease, landing lightly on the edge of an overturned table, blocking the sorcerer from Caleb's view. "I don't know what you did, Caleb, but I'm into it," he called, spinning his swords in an unusually quick blur as he eyed the faltering guardswoman with delight.

"Molly, you're blocking—!" Caleb tried to warn, but the tiefling froze, eyes going wide.

His head darted around as he scanned for something that wasn't there. "Everything went dark. Please tell me this is your doing, Caleb," he said, an edge of worry creeping into his voice.

The guardswoman growled, pushing herself off the ground and taking a swing at him while he was disoriented.

"Oh no you don't," Caleb said, lobbing a ball of fire at her. It collided with her breastplate and made her swing go wide, striking the edge of the table. Mollymauk wavered on the edge before collapsing onto the ground, barely managing to keep his head from smashing against the rock.

The sorcerer behind them inhaled deeply and vomited a burst of acid that exploded on the exposed Mollymauk. Molly yelped, scrambling backward as his clothes steamed with a loud hiss until he ran into Caleb's legs.

"Well, that was gross," Caleb muttered as he forced more magic into his palms. Beside them, the fire still crackled, and he could hear the faint sounds of Nott and Jester's battle through it.

The guardswoman, now bleeding profusely from Molly's earlier slices, stumbled towards them with her mace raised. He threw a sphere of fire at her that rammed her square in the chest and knocked her backward to the ground. Her head hit with a loud clang and her mace rolled out of her hand.

Without pause, Caleb lobbed three more rays at the opposing sorcerer. The first barreled towards her hazy form but slipped straight through and exploded against the opposite wall. The second and third managed glancing hits but she still clung to control over her own spell. Gods, that was annoying.

"Caleb, what's going on?" Molly called, grabbing his leg.

With a snarl the sorcerer clenched her fists and lighting sparked up her arms.

"Oh, I think not," Caleb muttered, cutting through the air with his arm and causing her magic to spark wildly and fizzle out. "Alright, Mollymauk, our turn," he said pulling the man off the ground and helping him regain his footing.

He had two options, one dispel the blindness spell she'd used on Mollymauk, or two, dispel the evasion spell she'd placed on herself.

"Alright, Mollymauk, do you trust me?" Caleb asked, putting his hands on either of the tieflings shoulders and speaking to him from behind.

"Um, what are you planning, Caleb?" he asked, looking back but unable to focus on Caleb.

"Swing your swords," Caleb called and shoved the man forward towards the enemy. "She's right in front of you."

"Um, okay, I guess this is what we're doing now," Molly said, blinking away the shock and taking large swipes at empty air.

Caleb lifted his hand then clenched it. His magic jetted across the room, attacking the spell surrounding her and tearing it apart like a pack of ravenous gnolls. It disintegrated just as Molly stepped into range. His blades swung in large arcs, the first clipped her shoulder and at the contact Mollymauk's locked in, with a grin he slashed at her in a blur of blades that sprayed blood across the room. With a final slash, he severed her head from her body. It flew across the room and hit the wall with a dull thud.

Mollymauk straightened, vision returning. Besides them the fire died, revealing Jester and Nott leaning over the dead body of the other guard, relatively uninjured. Molly looked down at the carnage, at his bloody swords, then over at Caleb with a grin. "Well, that was fun."

Caleb sighed, leaning against the wall then slumping down to the ground. Frumpkin crawled down the wall and onto his shoulder. "You have a strange definition of fun."

Mollymauk chuckled and sheathed his scimitars. "You know you're not the first to tell me that, and you probably won't be the last."

"Oh, of that I have no doubt," Caleb said, an exhausted grin playing across his face. Maybe this timeline would turn out okay after all.

…

Guards with ready crossbows watched them from the shadowy edges of the dark foyer. A sliver of thin moonlight split the floor from the looming window, contrasting with the hazy torches bolted along the wall.

The Mighty Nein shifted uncomfortably under the weight of some many gazes while dripping the Iron Shephard's blood onto the garish carpet.

Ophelia Mardun emerged from an obscured room on the floor above them, watching them while she descended the staircase slowly, casually. The only sound in the room was the creek of the wooden stairs and the muffled press of her cloven hooves on each step.

She wore a heavy dark blue jacket that concealed most of her form except for the brief flash of a crimson nightgown beneath at the chest and the knees, and her thick hair was pulled back into a loose braid instead of the free-flowing style she'd worn earlier.

She stopped several steps from the bottom, narrowing her eyes and honing in on Fjord.

"I sure hope you have an excellent reason to disturb me at this hour," she said at last, clipped voice filling the dark manor. "And in such numbers in such a state." Her lip curled on the last word.

"Ah, yeah, well firstly we apologize for bargin' in at this hour," Fjord began, taking a step forward and wringing his hands, "But we thought it might be prudent to…give you an update on our shared business."

"At three in the morning," she said, more statement than question.

"Yeah, again, we apologize for the inconvenience but seeing as this was…sensitive business we thought it might be best to relay the news at a quieter time. When the streets were less occupied. Surely you understand."

"Obviously," she said, matching his slow cadence and rolling each syllable off her tongue.

"So, that being said, we've come to tell you our mutual business has concluded this evening."

"Is that so?" she asked, raising a thin eyebrow.

Fjord nodded. "My compatriots and I, we, have business to attend to elsewhere, and we were planning on departing sometime tomorrow preferably."

"And?"

"Well, seeing as we did you a healthy service this evening, we thought perhaps we could continue to benefit from this…temporary partnership for a little longer."

Ophelia's eyes narrowed to golden slits. "Explain."

Fjord clasped his hands. "Well, as we understand it you do quite a bit of trade with Zadash, which happens to be where we're heading. Seeing how dangerous travel can be these days, we thought your next caravan might like an escort. In exchange for a small amount of compensation and traveling supplies, of course."

Ophelia's tail flicked, and she brought her hand up to cup her chin while surveying them. She opened her mouth to speak, but her gaze snagged in place for a breath. She blinked, refocusing on Fjord. "I am open to this sort of arrangement. But I'm sure you all are tired from this evening's events. I will wake my kitchen staff and we will discuss the finer details over food." She snapped, sending a nearby servant running into a dark corridor.

"Oh, we'd hate to impose—" Fjord started.

"Oh, I insist," she said with a grin just open enough to flash her canines in the moonlight.

Caleb glanced backward as subtly as he could, trying to pinpoint what had caught her off guard a moment ago.

Not what. Who.

Mollymauk stood in the gap between him and Beau, studying the patterns on the carpet with disinterest.

Oh. Who else.

Ophelia led them through the creaking manor, past all sorts of dusty curio, but Caleb was too occupied trying to unravel her reaction to notice. There were plenty of things about Molly to give people pause. Obviously, his tiefling-ness shouldn't be a problem to Ophelia, and he couldn't imagine tattoos were that unusual in a town like Shady Creek. The jewelry maybe? The overwhelming rainbow coat? But the mansion was so dimly lit neither of those two elements were observable in their full blinding glory this evening.

Maybe he offended her fashion sense? That was feasible, but was Ophelia the kind of person who cared enough to let it throw her off during a business conversation? Unlikely. Could it be…arousal? Certainly, Ophelia emanated a sultry aura at times, and Mollymauk was attractive, he supposed, for a peacock incarnate. That would at least explain the dinner invitation.

Before he could flesh out his theory further, Ophelia brought them into a dining room where a servant hastily stoked the fire in the hearth. It was a medium sized room, but the table and chairs occupied the bulk of the space and several more display racks had been squished inside in addition. The hearth lined one wall while a large window with a view full of dead branches occupied the other. Ophelia seated herself at the head of the table, clasping her hands and watching the rest of the Mighty Nein file in and situate themselves.

Caleb seated himself on the side of the hearth to fight off the mansion's oppressive chill, and Nott settled in the chair next to him. There were exactly seven seats, so it was lucky Keg had gone with Shakäste back to The Landlocked Lady before they arrived. Fjord and Beau seated themselves to Ophelia's left and right sides, Jester nabbed the seat next to Fjord, then waved Yasha over to the empty seat to her right, leaving the final seat at the opposite end of the table, on Caleb's left, and staring directly at Ophelia, for Mollymauk.

Caleb swallowed hard, staring at the knots in the wooden table. This was unexpected but wouldn't change anything. Shouldn't change anything. Caleb kept repeating that thought to himself like a mantra. A prayer. Eventually, a plate was placed in front of him. He barely noticed it. Instead, he lifted his head to focus on Ophelia.

She had no plate before her, just a wine glass, and Fjord and Beau tried to engage her in conversation, but after every other remark or so she would glance a Mollymauk with a strange expression Caleb couldn't decipher.

Mollymauk himself snickered in conversation with Yasha, gesturing as he spoke with a food-laden fork. A grin played on his face, but his free hand tapped on the table a bit too quickly.

A servant stopped by, leaning in next to Ophelia so she could whisper in his ear. The servant blinked at her for a moment before nodding and turning to leave with a blank expression. On the way out the servant paused by one of the guards flanking the doorway, whispering something in her ear as well.

Okay. Something was up. Caleb clenched his fist before pulling it beneath the table and sneaking it into his money pouch. This would be a risk. Potentially. But if he was careful and had a gentle-enough touch…

He grabbed a copper piece, withdrawing it and spinning through his fingers as casually as he could manage. He hummed the incantation under his breath, looking at Ophelia at the last moment.

Magic washed through his skull, making his scalp tingle, and an invisible thread connected him with Ophelia. Her voice, as clear as if she were speaking aloud, rang out in his head.

 _'—_ _re of. Is this his way of announcing it? Of holding it over me? Why now? Why through the Gentleman? Are they in league? Using each other more likely. But using me as well now. For what purpose? The theatrics, the planning, the Iron Shepherds, all of it for what? Perhaps it's been too long since I reminded everyone what I'm capable of.'_

Ophelia's grip tightened on her wine glass until her grey knuckles turned white.

 _'_ _You should've stayed dead, Nonagon.'_

The shock of her last sentiment sent Caleb reeling and broke his concentration on the spell. Ophelia's thoughts faded then went out as he put both hands on the table to brace himself, trying to digest the information. With shaking hands he grabbed the copper wire out of his component pouch, accidentally bringing several rocks and a scrap of leather along with it. He pointed a finger at Fjord beneath the table.

 _'_ _Fjord,'_

The man jumped, stopping mid-conversation.

 _'_ _We need to go. Right now. Ophelia's planning something. Youcanrespondtothismessage.'_

Fjord glanced at him, appearing like he was about to object, but the look on Caleb's face silenced him. He nodded once and turned back to Ophelia, putting on his most charming smile.

"Well, that was delicious," he said and wiped his hand on his cloth napkin, "And we surely won't forget your generous hospitality," he stood up, the tuft of his hair almost brushing the long-hanging ceiling beams, "But we've had quite a night, and I'm afraid we'll fall asleep right here if we don't get going soon."

He gave the rest of the party a meaningful nod. Beau groaned, shoving a final roll into her mouth before pushing herself up, and the rest of the party followed suit.

"Sorry about the blood we got on your chairs," Jester said, glancing behind her. "And ash."

"Stay a little longer. I insist," Ophelia said standing and staring directly at Mollymauk.

"Oh, we couldn't impose—" Fjord began.

"We're all friends here," she said, tail swishing as her face darkened. "Isn't that right, _Nonagon_?"  
Molly's head snapped up and he paled as he locked eyes with Ophelia. Caleb began to go through his remaining spells.

Fjord stepped in. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding, Mo—"

"I'll admit it though," Ophelia said to Molly over Fjord. "I'm impressed. That little disguise of yours got you past my spies, my guards, and into my estate."

Mollymauk forced a grin, trying and failing to relax his stiff limbs. "Well, you know me, always one for theatrics," he said. Beneath the tabling his tail flicked rapidly, knocking against the table legs with rhythmic thuds.

Ophelia grinned. "Theatrics indeed. Now I do have a question if you'll indulge me."

"Anything, darling," Molly said.

"I heard from a reliable source you were put six feet under by your own men. How exactly, did you manage to crawl out of that situation?" she asked.

Caleb heard the drumming of approaching boots.

"On my hands and knees," Molly said and reached for his scimitars.

"Be evasive all you like, Nonagon," she said, "I look forward to seeing you repeat your miracle a second time."

The room exploded into chaos as a squad of armed guards burst into the room. The Mighty Nein drew their weapons and Nott dove across the table with her crossbow, taking a shot at Ophelia, who stepped to the side in an easy dodge. Beside Caleb, Molly was cursing under his breath and taking a defensive stance.

Guards poured into the room, and Caleb could see even more past the bottleneck in the hall.

"Okay, this is bad!" shouted Nott as she scrambled under the table to fire at the guards' knees.

"I don't have any more spells," Jester called from the back of the room. "Nobody get hurt!"

"That's generally the idea," Molly said, taking an experimental swipe at the closest guard.

Another guard aimed for Caleb with her short bow so he dropped to his knees. The arrow whooshed through his hair and embedded itself into the wall. Caleb crawled under the table, passing Nott who tossed a stink bomb at the hoard of guards. He popped back up next to Fjord who was barely keeping three guards at bay with his Falchion.

"Fjord, we've got to get out of here," Caleb said, shielding himself behind the larger man.

"Yeah, no shit," Fjord said ducking away from a glaive.

"Bring me my sword," shouted Ophelia from across the room.

"Out the window, I'll make a distraction," Caleb said, reaching around Fjord to fire his Glove of Blasting at the three guards and throwing them back.

"Can do," Fjord said. He hoisted a chair and slammed it into the pane of glass. With a deafening crash, it shattered into a thousand glittering pieces and the window frame splintered.

On cue, Caleb mumbled his incantation, focusing on the cluster of guards with Ophelia at the helm. His magic surged forward and crashed on them like a wave. It burrowed into their skulls and ripped the sight from the first row of enemies, including Ophelia. They shouted, stumbling forward and bumping into their companions with weapons flailing.

"Mighty Nein, time to go!" Fjord shouted before diving out the window.

"Stop them!" Ophelia screeched, falling backward into her own guards.

Caleb followed next, making a leap for it but his coat snagged on the split wood. He landed outside on his face, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"No time for that," Yasha said as she landed next to him with a splash of mud and dragged him up by his collar.

"Why can't we go one _fucking_ day without somebody trying to kill us?" Beau asked as she darted past them.

Nott and Jester followed next with Molly vaulting over the window sill last, swords catching the moonlight. Beside Caleb, Yasha sheathed her sword and scooped Caleb up off the ground.

"Woah, wh—!" he started, but she was off, sprinting towards the gate with the rest of the Mighty Nein. Crossbow bolts and arrows whizzed past them. One flew straight through Jester's cape, leaving a hole where it passed. They embedded themselves in the ground around their feet in a series of 'thunk' 'thunk' 'thunk's.

It was about that time, as they fled the Mardun estate, that Caleb realized he may have broken this new timeline irrevocably beyond repair.

Or, more colloquially: he fucked up.

…

 _With D &D Beyond you too can generate random NPCs in a flash, like Sandra Bullock, the Dragon Soul Sorcerer who has a 9 AC and a -4 dex modifier that literally even a blind tiefling can hit. Or Random Guard #1, who is a fighter but for some reason has a 16 in wisdom, 18 in intelligence and a 4 in constitution. _

_Commenters are the moon in my sky and the stars in my eyes._


	4. The Yohimbe

**Chapter Four:**

 **The Yohimbe**

…

The trip from Shady Creek Run to Zadash took eleven days, which managed to feel like the longest week and a half of Caleb's life. An impressive feat, considering he once spent eleven years voluntarily rotting in an asylum.

Molly rarely participated in conversation, Caleb didn't have enough gold to turn Frumpkin back into a cat, and Jester's sneeze from the Sour Nest has evolved into a head cold that could launch her into a shrill sneezing fit at the slightest provocation.

They encountered the Syphilis Bandits early on, who were dispatched easily, but in the process Beau took a pratfall in the mud and give herself a black eye on her own staff, sending her spiraling into an equally sour mood.

Caleb himself was less of a person per se and more of a bodiless spirit of misery who happened to dwell in thin bones and scraps of rags.

He was still weak-kneed and easily exhausted, so he spent the entire journey in the cart either clutching his knees to his chest in a raw panic or lying on his back and wallowing in despair.

They were _supposed_ to get a mission from Ophelia, one that, if he played his cards right, could've funded his second jump back in time, but now everything had gone so, so wrong.

Now, he had approximately a month to make, find, or steal 500,000 gold pieces worth of diamonds or his calculations would be off. If his calculations were off, he'd run a greater risk of getting the timing wrong. If he got the timing wrong and landed too late...well.

That was the worst-case scenario.

Second worst was his current hell—stranded in the past with the pressure of having to secure an impossible fortune in a month or risk everything he'd ever worked for. He had thirty days to do a task that'd previously taken him sixteen years. He'd have to do something drastic to attain such wealth. Steal it probably.

Or die trying.

He wasn't sure how to sort dying on his worst-case-scenarios list. Pros to dying would be dying, cons to dying would be failing his mission. It was a mixed bag, really.

Where was that amount of wealth kept? Preferably in diamonds already, as he didn't have the contacts or time to liquidate that much stolen gold into diamonds.

Zadash had a bank.

He'd be robbing from the Empire, which was equal parts poetic and suicidal. Even if he wanted to let the rest of the Mighty Nein in on what he had planned, he doubted they'd help. Moral objections aside, again, trying to break into such a heavily fortified bank was signing your own death warrant or at least a lifetime of military and magical persecution.

So, the resources he had were: himself-a semi-powerful wizard, one not-cat, one transmuter's stone, and the clothes on his back.

So jack shit.

While Caleb mentally chewed on the idea of a bank heist, the Gentleman surveyed them from his high-backed chair, feet lazily reclined on the long mahogany table that separated him from the Mighty Nein.

Scarred patrons wandered the Evening Nip in aimless patterns, mumbling foreign tongues under their breaths and casting occasional glances in their direction. It appeared several of the musicians were missing that evening, leaving the lute and the drum to compensate for their absence. Though they tried, without someone playing the melody and countermelody, the music rang strange and hollow against the cobbled walls. Rain pounded on the building above in a fuzz of white noise.

Above them on the balcony several people huddled close in conversation, leaning on the rail. One caught Caleb's eye and flashed him a crooked grin. Caleb quickly averted his eyes and stared straight ahead. A single drop of water fell from the tip of the Gentleman's teal nose and splashed against the wood.

"Ophelia has always been a little feisty," he finally said, leaning forward with clasped hands, "Though she's made inquiries, I assure you she won't trouble you anymore while you're on business for me."

"And during the time we're not?" Caleb asked.

The Gentleman shrugged, looking him over casually. "Much like the relationship I have with you all, Ophelia and I are… _business_ partners. What she does outside of that time is up to her discretion, unless it affects business, of course. Either way, perhaps it might be best to avoid her corner map for a little while, hm?"

Molly laughed mirthlessly. "Don't have to tell me twice," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

"Indeed," the Gentleman said, raising a groomed eyebrow, "You'll understand, though, that completing only half the mission unfortunately only pays half the reward."

"Hey, wait a minute, she attacked us," Beau said and took a step forward.

Fjord put a hand on her shoulder. "At the time we…weighed our options and decided that having to capture her and drag her out of her estate all the way back to Zadash might be a little more trouble than either of us were prepared for," he said.

The Gentleman nodded. "A fair assessment, and I don't begrudge your call. That being what it is, an arrangement is an arrangement. Still, you have the full reward from your time in the Labenda Swamp, and even with half the reward from Shady Creek Run, that still works out to about 570 gold pieces per person. Don't spend it all in one place," he said with a grin as his goliath bodyguard emerged from the back room holding large satchels of gold.

Well, it was a start at least. Only 499,430 gold pieces left to go.

The bodyguard placed the gold on the table in front of them before stepping back behind the Gentleman. Nott reached for the closest bag, but the Gentleman lifted a hand to stop her.

"Before you retire for the evening, I understand you are likely tired from your travels, but I'd like you to hear out another proposition. I had some business come up recently, and though it's more of a pressing nature, I'm sure it could be worth your while," he said with a thin grin stretching his face.

Worth your while? That was good at least. Caleb looked to Fjord, who surveyed the group for a moment before nodding.

"Can't hurt us to hear it. Shoot," he said.

The Gentleman's grin deepened. "Excellent. What do you know of Ice Haven?" he asked.

"Alchemy," Nott said.

"Ice. Drugs," Beau said.

"Chocolate eggs," said Jester through sniffles.

"Seconding the drugs," added Molly.

"It's one of the bigger ports up north," Fjord said.

"Yeah, thirding drugs," said Yasha.

The Gentleman chuckled, goatee twitching. "Correct on all counts. The Countess of Ice Haven is one of my old acquaintances, but she's been… rather disagreeable as of late. Overeager in her expansion," he said. He pulled his feet off the table so he could lean forward in his seat, steepling his fingers before him and watching the Mighty Nein over their gloved points. "As the woman who has controlled half of the opium trade in and out of the Empire for the last seven years, you can see how this could be slightly problematic."

Caleb saw Fjord's lip twitch in discontent. This probably wouldn't be a fun, feel-good job. No orphans to save. But wherever there were drugs, there was money.

The Gentleman continued onwards, "Her aggressive expansion is beginning to draw the attention of the Empire. They're only willing to turn a blind eye to so much. The Empire investigating Ice Haven is bad for more than just the Countess. It's bad for anything and anyone else in Ice Haven the Empire deems illegal."

"Refugees, you mean, from the Empire's politics," Fjord clarified.

The Gentleman nodded. "Religious, political, cultural, Ice Haven is a place where people can escape the Empire's fist without losing its shield. I have several of my own business ventures set up there for that reason, but the increasing Empire presence is cutting into profits."

"You're not asking us to kick the Empire out of Ice Haven, are you?" Beau asked, eyes narrowed in skepticism.

The Gentleman laughed at that. "I believe that might be out of your current skill set, but if a time comes where that's within your abilities, let me know. I already have someone stationed there to deal with the problem. I'd like you to protect my agent, and if need be, assist them in their efforts. There is a rare opening in the Countess's security two and a half weeks from now, so you understand the urgency."

The Mighty Nein looked at each other in question.

"Yeah, what does it pay?" Caleb asked as he crossed his arms.

The Gentleman leaned forward on his hands. "A 1,000 gold piece advance with a 10,000 reward at the end upon a successful completion of the task."

Fjord whistled at that.

The Gentleman shrugged. "I have a lot of money invested in Ice Haven, and so far you all have proved your value. And like I mentioned previously, it's a time sensitive matter."

"So, if we accept what exactly does 'protecting your agent' entail?" Fjord asked, still blinking away the shock of the reward.

"My agent is the most accomplished person in the art of stealth and subterfuge this side of the Ashkeeper Peaks. You will face no opposition from the Empire or the Countess's own guard. However, Ice Haven is…a rough and tumble city, and seeing as my agent will often need to travel to the less reputable areas for supplies, you understand my concern. I'd hate for a plan this delicate to be undone by a random mugging. My agent is skilled, but a little on the fragile side," he said with a frown. "After they complete their task, they'll also need an escort back to Zadash."

"It seems reasonable, and the pay is good," Caleb whispered to Fjord.

The half-orc rubbed his chin. "Can you tell us a little more about what your agent is planning? We're not going to be like, helping poison the city's water supply, or anything, right?"

The Gentleman chuckled. "Nothing of the sort. I just need a vial of the Countess's blood," he said.

Nott's brows furrowed. "You know that almost makes me feel a little worse," Nott said, and Fjord nodded in agreement.

The Gentleman leaned back again, resting his arms on his chair. "All I ask is that you make your decision tonight, that way if you refuse, I can continue looking for other options."

"Fair enough," Fjord said and picked up one of the sacks of coins. "We'll discuss it as a group for a moment if you don't mind," he said.

"By all means," the Gentleman said, gesturing towards an empty table in the back corner.

The Might Nein gathered the rest of their gold and headed for the round table in the back. Upon sitting Nott immediately dumped out her bag of gold. It sparkled in her large eyes and her slit pupils dilated hungrily as she gazed at the display.

Beau dropped her head onto the table with a hollow 'thud'. "Can we make this quick, I'm beat," she asked, voice muffled by the wood.

Beside her, Yasha nodded and broke into a large yawn.

"If we take this mission, we'll probably have to leave in the morning," Molly pointed out, leaning on his hand. "It won't leave us with much time to resupply in Zadash."

The party had gone straight to the Evening Nip after arrival to cash in on their missions, so they could afford a place to stay that night. Their impromptu departure from Shady Creek Run meant they had to pick up supplies where they could—mostly from the overpriced road merchants—along with buying more horses after so many of their original stock had been killed. Their pockets were full of nothing but lint and mothballs for most of the trip back until now.

Fjord sighed rubbing his forehead. "Molly has a point. It won't give us much time to shop. What do you guys think?"

"Sounds like a lot of fun," Jester said. "I have like a second cousin up there, you know. On my mother's side," she clarified. "I've never actually met her, but I'm sure she's super nice."

"If you haven't met her how do you know she's nice?" asked Nott, momentarily looking up from her stacks of gold.

"My mother—" Jester started.

"Can we please get back on topic? I think Beauregard has already fallen asleep, " Caleb said, nodding at the unconscious woman. Yasha elbowed her.

Beau jerked awake. "I'm up, I'm up."

"Anyways," began Caleb, "It sounds like an easy job, and it's a lot of money."

It wasn't nearly enough money, but it was a start while he figured out the logistics of robbing a bank.

"It is a lot of money," Fjord conceded with a nod.

"It'd put us about 2,000 gold pieces per person afterward, counting what we just got," Caleb said.

"I don't even know what I'd do with all of that," Beau said.

"What wouldn't you?" Molly asked with a grin, but there were still bags beneath his eyes and he wasn't reclining back in his chair like usual.

"You know that's a fair point," Beau said and looked to Fjord.

"The money's not the problem," Fjord said. "It's the timeline and the content I'm worried about. We're already dead beat from the last two, and we'd have to head right back out tomorrow. Plus this whole blood magic Countess thing." He said and ran a hand through his cropped hair. "We almost ended up in a real bad place last mission, I just wanna make sure we're not biting off more than we can chew here."

"I think you just don't want to go somewhere cold again, Fjord," Jester said, unable to keep her mirth from bubbling into a toothy smile.

"That is _not_ the truth," he said, pointing at her with his index finger, "I have plenty of other, more valid reasons not to want to go to Ice Haven," he insisted. The rest of the party chuckled at that.

"Well, I say we go," Caleb said after the party quieted, "Beauregard can sleep on the way."

"And Caleb can shower when we get there," Beau shot back. Caleb paused for a moment, then gave a nod as he conceded to the insult.

"It's also far enough away that if Ophelia is still bent on causing trouble, we'll be out of reach for a while," Molly said, picking at a knot in the table with a clawed finger.

"Well then," Fjord said and put his hands on the table, "It kinda sounds like we've made a decision. Nott? Yasha?"

"If Caleb thinks it's a good idea, I think it's a good idea," Nott said, never taking her eyes off the gold she stacked. Caleb gave her an appreciative look anyways.

"It's fine with me. I don't mind the cold," Yasha said. "And if it starts looking like we're in over our heads, we leave."

Fjord sighed and pushed himself up, chair legs scraping the floor behind him. "Alrighty then, I guess I'll let the Gentleman know we've made a decision"

…

On the way to The Pillow Trove, the drizzle that dogged their steps from Shady Creek Run cracked open into a downpour.

They arrived in the lobby, each thirty pounds heavier from the sheer weight of the water they'd absorbed. Jester plodded over to the receptionist with several loud 'thwack' 'thwack' 'thwack's from her water-logged boots and grabbed them rooms for the evening. Molly walked over and put down an extra ten gold to upgrade Fjord and his room to a Lordly Suite.

"Alright, I know we're all exhausted," Fjord began as they trudged up the stairs.

"And soaking wet," Molly added.

"And soaking wet, yes," Fjord said with a nod, "But we've really got to make a game plan for tomorrow morning."

With resigned sighs, The Mighty Nein dragged themselves to Fjord and Molly's suite.

It was an expansive room with a recently lit hearth on the exterior wall next to the balcony entrance where dark rain still beat down on the city. As they stepped into the room the flickering embers sent their shadows playing across the ornate wallpaper like phantoms.

Molly shrugged off his rainbow coat and swung it around a chair back near the fire to dry, then began working on the laces of his boots. The rest of the Mighty Nein followed suit, draping their overcoats and capes near the fire and placing their boots in a little ring by the base.

Pulling pillows off the bed and lounge chair, they circled up on the floor near the fire with legs pilled in the center.

"Alright," Fjord began, rubbing his face, "So we definitely need to hit Pumat's tomorrow." Beau was already asleep against Jester while Nott nodded off leaning against Caleb's side. Fjord ignored them and continued. "Any other requests? We should probably aim to get out of here by—"

As Fjord went on Caleb's attention drifted to the fire and the boots circled around it. Seven pairs. Other people, other boots, would enter and leave their lives, but these first seven sitting there, soaking, leaning on each other…

Seven would become six, then seven again, then six, five, four…

Buried underground, burned to ash, lost on a battlefield under the weight of corpses, another buried…

Life had pulled chunks of him out with a dripping fist until not much else remained beside the absence of what used to be. He was a man full of exit wounds, the sides of which stopped bleeding long ago and crooked malformed scars grew instead. The gaping holes endured.

Being back here with seven boots felt like someone was trying to shove those hunks of his flesh back into his chest. But he was older now, as were his wounds, so the pieces didn't fit properly.

It was a cruel joke.

He swallowed hard. The flames continued their aimless dance.

It would probably be like this when he jumped back again. Likely even worse. His life had been defined by that specific tragedy he sought to prevent. That purpose was the glue that strung his shattered pieces together.

What would he do after he succeeded?

Who would he be?

A jaded, fragmented 40-year-old man trapped in a 16-year-old body. Forced to stare into the eyes of the parents he'd murdered in another life and pretend everything was fine. What then?

At his side, Caleb clenched his fist, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm until he broke skin. He took a deep breath, focusing on the sting, letting the pain anchor him.

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder. Caleb looked up to see Mollymauk giving him a concerned, confused look.

Caleb tried to summon a smile but rolling a thousand-ton boulder up a mountain would've been easier. All his weary face muscles managed was tightening in a grimace.

Molly looked at him for a moment, then closed his eyes and stretched in a grandiose motion that ran from the tips of his toes to the clenched fists above his head. Upon his arms' descent, he wrapped one around Yasha and the other around Caleb's shoulder, settling back in and staring forward at Fjord.

Caleb went stiff under the contact. He should duck out from under Molly's arm. What comfort could come from a dead man? But for a dead man, Molly's skin was remarkably warm and felt incredible against his freezing neck and shoulders. It burned the numbness away until he felt like a human again. Felt real again.

The weight of Molly's arm helped tether him to this place. This time.

Caleb surveyed his friends tangled out before him. Nott's slight chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm next to him. Beau's muscled legs overlapped his. Fjord spoke quietly now, mostly just to Jester and Yasha, though the three of them seemed on the precipice of sleep as well. Next to him, Mollymauk had leaned his head back on the chair seat behind him, eyes closed.

Caleb wrapped an arm around Nott, pulling her closer. This timeline wasn't real to him, but it was real to them.

He shouldn't forget that. Couldn't forget that.

…

The sun never rose the next day, obscured by dark storm clouds intent on washing Zadash away. The Mighty Nein pulled themselves from sleep with a series of groans. Molly withdrew his arm, letting his hand pause on Caleb's shoulder once more to give it a squeeze. He looked at Caleb with a question on his face.

"I'm fine," Caleb said quietly, but the look Molly gave him implied his lies were getting more and more transparent.

After taking the time to bemoan the fact that'd they'd paid for three rooms and only ultimately used one, the Mighty Nein left The Pillow Trove on their whirlwind shopping spree.

Or attempted whirlwind shopping spree.

Because of the weather, many shops were late to open—including The Invulnerable Vagrant—so they failed to pick up any more useful magical trinkets or a new dress for Jester.

Empty-handed, save for a handful of crossbow bolts they'd managed to scrape up for Nott and incense for Caleb, The Mighty Nein departed Zadash by ten in the morning, already soaked through.

Of the two-and-a-half-week deadline to obtain the Countess's blood, they needed a good ten travel days just to make it to Ice Haven, which explained the Gentleman's earlier insistence on speed. The plan was to meet the Gentleman's contact, someone named Lox, on the 20th at 6 pm at a tavern called The Tipsy Seal.

Two hours into their journey it became clear hitting that deadline would be difficult. The torrential downpour worsened, releasing an ocean down on their heads. Water spilled from the grass and pooled on the road.

They spent the bulk of the later afternoon looking for hills or inclines to set up their evening camp without danger of being swept away. Conversation was impossible over the pounding rain, so the party kept to themselves, wallowing in their clammy skin and soaked shoes. Caleb managed to turn Frumpkin back into a cat, but because of the rain had to send him to his pocket dimension right after.

When they woke the next morning, the grasslands were flooded, leaving hilltops suspended above the impromptu marsh like little islands.

Their horses waded through knee-high water, and the cart left a wake behind it like a boat. Progress slowed to a snail's pace, and the water level rose even higher.

On the third day, the storm broke at last. The Mighty Nein basked in the sun's rays, letting it warm their faces and dry their clothes. For about thirty minutes.

Then the horses' hooves started to sink in the mud.

The more the water drained into the land, the deeper the mud became. By midafternoon the party had to dismount and pull their horses through the thick sludge. It was dense as molasses with twice the suction. On multiple occasions they had to strap every horse to the cart along with the entire party getting behind, pushing to dislodge it from the muck.

They went to bed that evening caked in mud up to their waists with legs that ached from the amount of effort it took to make even a single step.

It was on the third day of their one-day trip that they crested a hill and finally saw the silver river stretching out before them. Covered in grime and sweating through their clothes, they made their way into the little town that lined the river.

An older women lingering in the door of a shoe-shop eyed them as they passed, and Jester broke off towards her. The rain had made her cold worse, so her button nose was dark and swollen like a blueberry.

"Excuse me, miss, is there a bathhouse here? You can probably tell but we got really dirty on our way here," Jester said, leaning forward to confess the last bit as if it were a secret.

She pointed a calloused thumb over her shoulder. "It's called the river," she said, giving Jester an unimpressed once-over.

With sunken shoulders, Jester returned to the group. "Guys, I don't think I'm going to be able to find a new dress here," she said, looking around at the slumping buildings with a sniffle.

"It's no Zadash, that's for sure," Caleb said and stepped over a chicken bone that'd been tossed in the street. Easily enough they found their way to the docks, led by Fjord, who zeroed in on the largest boat.

"That's gotta be us," he said and stepped towards it. The wide barge stretched out before them, sail-less and flat. The bottom half was stained dark from years on the river, and a barely legible name, 'The Yohimbe', cracked off the side. Fjord paused to take the vessel in.

"Are you The Mighty Nein?" asked a rough voice from behind them. From the shadows of the building from behind them broke a half-orc woman, dark and scarred from a life under the sun. She stopped before them, eyeing them one by one and crossing her thick biceps.

"Who's asking," Nott asked with narrow eyes.

The half-orc woman towered over Nott and raised an eyebrow. She had at least six inches on Fjord. "Captain Whitney Cotton," she said at last, "of The Yohimbe." She glanced behind her at the barge. "The very late Yohimbe that should've departed two days ago but could not because we had orders to wait for passengers," she said and spit on the ground. Her tusks flashed in the noonday sun.

Fjord rubbed the back of his neck. "Apologies for making you wait, we had full intention of—"

Whitney cut him off. "Frankly Mister—"

"Fjord."

"Frankly, Mister Fjord, I do not care why y'all were late. My singular job is to get you and my cargo to the destination safely and on time," she said, articulating the last word sharply. "Now, if I can get y'all to board my boat and stop lollygagging on the docks, maybe we can start making up for that lost time." With that, she started towards the boat, white ponytail whipping behind her.

"I, uh, I guess we're heading out, guys," Fjord said, looking back at the party.

"I want a top bunk!" Jester said as she ran ahead.

Molly and Yasha split off to board their horses and cart at the nearby inn while the rest of the party proceeded onto The Yohimbe.

A handful of sweaty crew watched them from underneath the shade of their hats with annoyance. Caleb stepped in front of Nott instinctively.

"Well, what're y'all waiting for, an invitation?" Whitney called to the crew. "Prepare to disembark."

With hearty sighs, they rose from their lazing and began untying ropes.

Another half-orc came up beside Whitney. He was six-inches shorter, but twice as tattooed and lacked Whitney's frown lines.

"This is my First Mate, Elijah," Whitney said with an acknowledging nod.

"Also her brother," Elijah said, offering Fjord a handshake with a grin.

"Fjord," Fjord said, shaking the man's hand. "And this is Beau, Jester, Caleb, and Nott," he said, gesturing to each person in turn. "We've got two more at the inn that'll be here shortly."

Whitney rolled her eyes at that. "Oh wonderful. More delays."

"Why don't I show y'all where you can set down your stuff so the Captain can get us ready to leave," Elijah said and led them towards the lower decks.

Caleb ushered Nott ahead of him away from prying eyes, casting one last glance at the crew before he followed her into the dark. They descended a rickety set of stairs into the shaded interior of the boat. Caleb blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the change.

"Obviously we're primarily a cargo vessel, oh, watch your head," Elijah said, ducking under a low-hanging beam, "So we don't have much spare living space. Point being, we're shorthanded on crew just to have enough room for you guys, so we're gonna need you to pitch in at some points," he said and led them through the body of the boat.

"Seems reasonable," Fjord said, looking around with interest.

Dark ropes swayed slightly, strung from the ceiling, nets pinned barrels and crates against either side of the boat's interior, and the muffled sounds of steps and Captain Whitney's voice leaked in from above with narrow shafts of sunlight.

Elijah lead them to the crew's quarters, which were not bunk beds as Jester had hoped, but a series of cloth hammocks suspended above the floor.

Fjord fell into one easily, lacing his hands together behind his head. "Just like old times," he said, rocking himself with a foot braced on the floor.

"I don't know if Yasha will fit in one of these," Beau said, running her hand along the length of one of her hammocks.

"Oh, they're bigger than you'd think," Elijah said, "Those ones along the edge are for you folks. I'll give you guys a couple minutes to settle in, but once you're done, head on back up, okay?" he said, then vanished back into the maze of cargo, leaving the four of them alone.

Nott prodded at the hammock nearest to her with suspicion. "Won't we fall out in the middle of the night?" she asked, glancing to Fjord.

He shook his head. "Nah. The hammocks swing with the boat so that doesn't happen. Plus, it's a river cruise. No waves," he explained.

Caleb set his things down under the hammock next to Nott's, then surveyed the room with a frown. "Not much privacy," he remarked. That would be a pain if he needed to conduct any more rituals. Plus there was no escape from company. He could imagine the space this evening, teaming with bodies. Strangers looking at him. Looking at them. Asking questions even. A week straight of that. No place to get away and decompress. Trapped in the dark hot belly of the boat. Caleb reached for a necklace that wasn't there.

"You mean sleeping with like twenty, hot and sweaty strangers isn't your idea of a good night, Caleb?" Beau asked with a smirk.

The rest of the Mighty Nein laughed, and even Caleb's mouth twitched at the joke. "No, not particularly," he said.

While Jester, Beau and Fjord turned to head back upstairs, Caleb lingered in the crew quarters. Nott gave him a curious look.

"Come on, let's explore a bit more," he said, and they stepped back into the rows of towering crates and barrels that occupied most of the boat's interior. The rest of the boat proved to be just that, more cargo, but at the very front there was a small break in the cargo that was out of view until you stumbled upon it.

Caleb breathed a sigh of relief upon finding the isolated oasis. He snapped his fingers, and Frumpkin popped back into existence. The not-tabby jumped up into Caleb's arms, where Caleb stroked his fur in a soothing rhythm. "This will be good in case I need to cast a ritual," he explained.

In case we need to get away.

Nott nodded, understanding his meaning.

In time they made their way up back onto the deck, where Fjord and Yasha were helping the crew ready to set sail, Jester was tying bows in various ropes, and Elijah was trying to explain to Molly and Beau what they could do to help.

Despite the Mighty Nein's "help", The Yohimbe, at last, managed to break free of the port, slipping down the river on the current.

Nott and Caleb, who'd weaseled out of disembarkment duty, rested against the rails, watching the buildings slide past before them. Caleb's fingers tapped the rail, and his stomach churned as the buildings vanished into a black spec behind them.

"Well, here we go," Nott said. "To Ice Haven."

"To Ice Haven," Caleb repeated, glancing forward at the long, winding river ahead of them.

…

 _Parks and Recreation, Season 4, Episode 11, 12:14_


	5. Echoed Places, Echoed Faces

**Chapter Five:**

 **Echoed Places, Echoed Faces**

 _Yohimbe is pronounced like Harambe._

 _This is also cross-posted to AO3 under the same name if you prefer that reading experience._

…

The Yohimbe's crew was as diverse as the Gentleman's own, linked only by their peeling sunburnt skin and collections of scars. They chatted and joked with one another, but once a member of the Mighty Nein neared, conversation quieted. Caleb hoped it was simply due to the standard social tension between strangers and not anything sinister, but it sent his stomach churning in unease every time it happened anyway. Especially since they all carried jagged weapons hung from belts or sticking out of boots.

Caleb and the rest of the Mighty Nein spent the rest of the day lounging off to the sides on the main deck in an attempt to stay out of the crew's way. They chatted with each other occasionally but were mostly content to nap in the shade and watch the lazily passing landscape.

Heavy dusk settled on them in a murky, violet fog, and the grasslands they passed grew flatter and darker. Cattails and other stringy weeds brushed against the side of the barge. Caleb hung over the edge, Frumpkin besides him watching the water with a flicking tail. Frogs and fish darted inches beneath the surface, flashing silver in the twilight. Frumpkin licked his chops unblinkingly.

"Ah-ah-ah-AH—!" Rang out from behind him, and Caleb turned just in time to watch Jester sneeze away the tarot spread before her.

Mollymauk cringed and picked up a card with two fingers. After a moment of deliberation, he wiped it off on his boot instead of his coat.

"Sorry, Molly," Jester said, voice fuzzy from her cold. She wiped her nose with an embroidered handkerchief pulled from the depths of her singed skirt.

"It happens," Molly said, still cleaning his cards.

Beau, sitting cross-legged on top of a barrel, frowned. "Can't you just," she paused, making a gesture with her hands while searching for words, "like, heal your own cold?"

"I—hm," Jester quirked her mouth, tilting her head at the notion. "Maybe? I've never tried my magic on a cold before," she confessed. "Usually I try and save my magic for more important things..."

"Might as well give it a shot. It's pretty quiet for now," Fjord said. He leaned back on the railing several yards away from Caleb, taking a moment to glance at the placid stretch of river ahead.

"Okaaaay," Jester said, skepticism stretching the word. After looking at the rest of the Mighty Nein for confirmation that yes, they wanted her to burn a spell slot on this, she opened her mouth to begin a familiar incantation. The first two alien syllables slipped off her forked tongue before her face pinched, words trailing off.

Molly dove for his cards, pulling them away in his arms as Jester let out another massive sneeze that was as high-pitched as it was loud.

Fjord let out a snort of laughter, and Beau couldn't keep the grin off her face. "You sneeze like a kitten," she called.

Molly packed his cards away before looking back up at Jester. "Well, try it again, then," he said.

"It's not gonna work," she said in a sing-song voice. She began the enchantment again only to be foiled by another sneeze. At least this one she caught with the crook of her elbow.

"Try Spiritual Weapon," Beau suggested.

"Or Thaumaturgy," Molly countered.

"Oh, that's an easy one," Jester said. She cracked her knuckles, shaking them out and closing her eyes to concentrate, but as soon as she opened her mouth another deafening sneeze erupted from her narrow frame that quickly turned into a coughing fit.

"Maybe that's enough magic for tonight," Fjord said with a paternal tone directed at both Jester and Beau in turn.

Molly nodded, patting Jester on the back as she continued to cough. "Alright, bedtime. Let's get you below deck," he said. He uncrossed his legs and pushed himself up in a single fluid motion, taking Jester by the forearm and helping her stand.

"What about the cards? You said—" Jester started.

"Tomorrow," Molly promised as he led her away. The sounds of their conversation faded, leaving the soft lapping of the river against the creaking barge to fill the silence along with the murmured words exchanged between the crew.

Caleb returned to staring out at the flat landscape. In the far distance, there was a dark stroke across the horizon, barely visible to the naked eye and hazy in the evening fog.

"That'd be the Labenda Swamp," Elijah said, placing himself against the railing between Caleb and Fjord. "Have y'all ever been?"

"Unfortunately," Caleb said.

Elijah laughed, rough and genuine. "That about sums it up. It's one of the more dangerous stretches of the river, so we're gonna need a decent rotating watch throughout the night. How's your night vision, Fjord?" he asked.

"Pretty good," Fjord said with a shrug.

Elijah nodded. "Figured. Can I get you gentlemen to take the first watch along with my friend over there," he gestured with his head to a half elf leaning on the opposite railing. She gave them an acknowledging glance before returning to watching the shore slip by. "It'll put you on Whitney's good side, plus I doubt you'll see any real action this early," Elijah said.

"What about later?" Fjord asked.

Elijah chuckled. "Well, it's the Labenda Swamp. So, just gators for the most part. Fish folk if we're unlucky. Trolls if we're really unlucky, but it's nothing we haven't dealt with before," he said. "After we're through the swamp, just pirates for the most part."

"River pirates," Fjord repeated.

"Yup," Elijah said, absently trailing a finger along a dark scar that ran the length of his forearm. "Sometimes, if they don't recognize that we're running goods for the Gentleman, they'll give us trouble, but Whitney and I are good with swords, and the rest of the crew can hold their own too. We can scare 'em off pretty easily," he said, then eyed Fjord and Caleb in turn. "Pardon my assumptions, but I'm betting you folks can hold your own too."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Fjord said.

"Was it the assortment of weapons that gave it away?" Caleb asked, regretting how sarcastic it sounded the moment it fell from his lips.

Elijah just cracked a smile. "Somethin' like that. But it's good to hear just the same. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd best get some shut eye before it's my turn to take y'all's place." Elijah bid them farewell before tracing Molly and Jester's steps into the heart of the barge.

The last vestiges of color in the sky died, replaced by a black ink wash with pinpricks of stars. Around them, non-essential crew made beelines for the stairs, eventually leaving Caleb, Fjord, the half-elf woman, and two other crew members alone on deck with a hand full of crackling torches. They illuminated the deck with red dancing light but did little to puncture the thick blackness surrounding them—at least to Caleb's human eyes.

With the daylight gone, every splash, every creak, every rustle of grass in the dark could be a merrow. A mountain troll. A bandit. It set Caleb's already frayed nerves on edge. He glanced to Fjord, only to find the man hunched over the railing, one hand clasped tightly in the other, eyes vacant and unfocused.

"Fjord?" Caleb breached, barely more than a murmur. Fjord didn't respond, so Caleb stepped closer, Frumpkin trailing behind him at a cat's pace. "Fjord?" he repeated again, coming to rest about three feet away from the man.

Fjord blinked, eyes focusing, and he looked down at his hands. "Yeah?"

"Um," Caleb began, mentally squaring himself. He could do this. "You seem, is something wrong?"

Fjord cocked his head to look up at Caleb, an almost curious expression flickering across his face. "That obvious?"

"Yeah," Caleb said.

Fjord didn't respond, and silence fell between them like a wall. Caleb put his hands in his pockets so he could fidget without making it obvious. He could do this. He could be here for Fjord. He could make this timeline better. But he couldn't think of anything to say. The more he tried to think of something, the more he failed, the more he failed, the more stressed he got, and the more elusive the words became. He balled his hands in sweaty fists. Inhaling, and hoping his brain would supply him with something, anything, that he could vomit out to resume the conversation.

"It's…" Fjord began slowly.

The sound of his voice, the removal of the burden to continue the conversation, almost made Caleb collapse in relief.

"It's that whole deal with the Iron Shepherds," Fjord said.

Caleb nodded. That made sense, but he hadn't considered it previously because he'd processed his own feelings on the trauma sixteen years ago. Or at least buried them.

"Me, Yasha, Jester…" Fjord went on, "there was nothing we could do? I kept wondering, the whole time we were in those cages, I kept wondering if there was anything we could've—I could've done differently. I hate to say this, Caleb, but the three of us didn't put up much of a fight the night they grabbed us," he said, staring straight ahead at the black landscape instead of looking at Caleb.

Caleb appreciated that.

"It all happened so quickly. They had us in chains and gags before we knew what was going on. We couldn't fight. Couldn't cast. All we could do was sit there and wait. For a moment there…" he paused, chewing on his words. When he spoke again, it was softer, "For a moment there I wasn't sure you guys would come for us." He did look at Caleb at that.

Caleb raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well of course we did. Why wouldn't we?" he asked, genuinely curious now.

Fjord paused again to think over his words. "Well, it's no secret we've had our disagreements in the past," he said at last, "I've known a lot of people who go through life just looking after themselves. Can't blame 'em. Sometimes that's just what you have to do. But…I'm afraid I misjudged you." Fjord twisted his upper body to face Caleb now, giving the man his full attention.

Caleb, hands still shoved in his pockets, swallowed hard and focused on the tips of his shoes. "Oh?"

He saw Fjord nod in his periphery. "Yeah. You—you do care for the Mighty Nein. In your own way. I think you have for a while now. I'm sorry it took you saving us from a group of slavers for me to see the obvious."

"Well, I can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, so I don't blame you," Caleb said, still focused on his shoes.

Fjord gave a puff of laughter at that. "I'm not gonna deny that, Caleb. But we—the Mighty Nein—we're all kind of…" he searched for the words. "We're all a little bruised, and a little scarred. So it's gonna take a while to really figure out how to make this work but, man, my time with y'all has been some of the best in…well, a while," he said.

"Yeah, it's been good. This is good," Caleb said, not daring to speak louder than a whisper.

"So I guess what I've been trying to say, Caleb, is thank you. For saving us. You didn't have to. But you did, and it means something."

Caleb swallowed down his guilt. "Hey, that's what friends are for, yeah?" he said, trying to sound as casual as he could. "Besides, I'm glad you're back. Trying to make decisions with you gone was a nightmare."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it worked out in the end anyway? You guys came up with a good plan."

Caleb bit his lip. "It was too risky. I should've seen that going in."

Fjord laid a heavy hand on Caleb's shoulder. "It worked out in the end though, and that's what matters, Caleb."

"It worked out in the end," Caleb repeated, nodding slowly, tasting the words that had never rung true for him in his lifetime of endeavors.

A more comfortable silence lapsed between them that was slowly filled with the sounds of bugs and frogs as they neared the swamp. The boat pushed on and Caleb's eyes adjusted enough to separate the ground from the sky. As the night grew late, spindly tree branches leaned over the water with gnarled trunks, suffocating the stars with dead leaves and hanging moss. Before they entered the swamp proper, Elijah returned to the deck and relieved them of their watch.

Fjord helped guide Caleb through the boat's dark to the crew's quarters where the hammocks around them hung heavy with the weight of the bodies within.

"Thank you, Fjord, for speaking with me," Caleb said quietly, just audible above the snoring.

"Yeah, thanks for listening, Caleb. I appreciate it," Fjord said, clapping the man on the back one last time before the two men split off to their respective hammocks.

Gracelessly, he pulled himself into bed, crossing his ankles and resting his clasped hands on his chest. Frumpkin jumped up, curling up beside his legs. Caleb tried to center himself for sleep, but his mind lingered on Fjord. The half-orc he'd known longer in memories than in life. Much like with Mollymauk and Jester, the lapping waves of memory had scrubbed him clean of his full nuance and depth, leaving just an impression of who'd he'd been in Caleb's mind. It was so odd to think of him struggling with powerlessness and insecurity. He was always the level-headed one. Mature and, honestly, a _good_ man.

Being back, meeting him, them, again and interacting with them... It was like reading an old favorite book that hadn't been touched in years. He remembered the basics, the core of it, but continually found himself surprised by the little details lost to time.

Caleb blinked in surprise as he realized he was actually enjoying the process of getting to know his friends a second time. They were younger and more foolish, and some more alive.

It was nice.

Nice not having the weight of Molly's death press down on them. Reminding them of the perils of their lifestyle along with the inevitable conclusion.

Caleb shifted, trying again to clear his head. The wood creaked around him. The river slapped against the side of the boat. Snoring and heavy breathing rose above it all. He tried to filter it out, pressing his eyes shut as if that'd help. It didn't. So instead he focused on the sounds of breathing around him.

He found Nott's first. Her's was the softest, and he could only hear her breathing due to her proximity. She took shallow breathes that whistled ever so slightly against her sharpened teeth. The sound made Caleb smile.

Molly's breathing was similar to Nott's—though the whistle was louder, and he occasionally hummed beneath his breath and shifted in his hammock. He was probably dreaming. Caleb could scarcely imagine the kind of technicolor phantoms that haunted Mollymauk's dreams.

Beau's was the easiest. She snored freely and loudly. By now though it was a comforting sound.

Fjord's was trickier. Usually he snored too, but apparently the river air had done his sinuses a favor this evening. His breaths were slow and deep, and he released each hearty exhale as though it were a sigh, freeing the tension from his frame with every breath.

Yasha's was the most difficult, both because she slept furthest away from him and because she didn't have any obvious tells like Nott or Molly. Eventually though, Caleb zeroed in on what he was sure was her breathing. It was measured and patient, filled with the low tone of the air echoing around her cavernous lungs, like wind blowing through a mountain range. Yes, that had to be her.

Jester's…Jester's breathing was painful to listen to. The air wheezed through her swollen throat, and her lungs rattled in a way that made Caleb's heart ache. He wished her spells had worked earlier. The fact that her cold was preventing her from performing the verbal component of spells was troubling. Primarily because she couldn't cure herself, but the omnipresent pragmatic voice in the back of Caleb's head reminded him that if they did have to fight, going into battle without a healer historically had not worked out well for them.

Jester coughed, lungs grating together, and Caleb cringed. With a sigh, he resigned himself to his insomnia and swung his legs out of bed. Frumpkin gave a low growl in irritation, not even bothering to open his amber eyes.

If he wasn't going to use this time to sleep, he might as well do something else useful with it.

Using his hands to guide him, Caleb navigated his way to the front of the boat to the accidental alcove he'd found earlier. He lit a stump of a candle, just enough to fight off the dark in the small space and placed his spellbook before him along with his inkwell. He hunched over the book, and after a deep breath to calm his unsteady hand, began to transcribe spells from memory.

…

Caleb began the next day with multiple kinks in his back, but a fuller spell book to show for it.

He emerged onto the main deck that morning to find a murky haze drifting across the deck. Black trees snaked through the air on either side of the river, forming a net of dead branches above their heads. The temperature and humidity had spiked by at least ten degrees, and Caleb could already feel the sticky moisture collected on his forehead and on the back of his neck. The swamp buzzed with insect life and croaking frogs. Odd, warbling bird cries punctured the din at uneven intervals.

Caleb swatted a mosquito off his cheek. They were definitely back in the swamp.

Crew members roamed around with tired bags under their eyes and sloping shoulders. They roamed the deck aimlessly with unfocused eyes. Rough night for everyone, it seemed.

In the center of the deck, Caleb found Elijah and Whitney facing down Fjord and Jester.

"Well, we both agree that we certainly can't go on like this," Elijah said, glancing to his sister then Fjord and Jester in turn.

"Is there a problem?" Caleb mumbled to Fjord as he came to stand next to them.

Before Fjord could speak, Whitney interjected. "Damn straight. Your friend there," she nodded towards Jester, "is gonna get my crew sick with all her coughing. We can't make it through the ice flows if half the crew is below deck hacking up a lung," she said, ending with a scowl.

"It's just a little cold," Jester said through sniffles.

"Perhaps we have something on board that could help?" Elijah said, taking a little step between the two groups. "Medicine? Herbs maybe? We might have some nettle stashed around somewhere."

"Oh, I found that last night," Jester said. "It didn't do anything."

"Are y'all in the habit of eating strange plants you find on boats? Is this something I should be concerned about?" Whitney asked, massaging her temple as her previous irritation faded to exasperation.

"Well, how are you feeling, Jester?" Fjord asked. "Better or worse than yesterday?"

She tried to answer but broke off into a sneezing fit. Everyone else instinctively took a step back.

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about," Whitney said and crossed her large arms before her, stretching the rope tattoo that wound around her forearm.

"I feel great," Jester said, voice rough and gravelly.

"Here's an idea," Elijah said, "And you're probably not gonna like it that much, Whit, but—"

"Throw them over the side and make 'em walk the rest of the way?" she asked, raising a single eyebrow at her brother.

Fjord stiffened at that, taking a step closer to Jester.

"Well, we'll be passing Berleben around noon…" Elijah said slowly.

"So your genius plan, Eli, is to once again delay our travel for a shopping trip. Despite the fact that we're already two days late," Whitney said.

"Yes?"

"Fine," Whitney said with a sigh, then looked to Jester. "We'll stop for half an hour. If y'all aren't back by that time, we're leaving you in the swamp," she said, pointing at Fjord, Jester, and Caleb in turn with an index finger.

"We understand," Fjord said with a nod.

"Good. Get the little lady her medicine," Whitney said to him, then looked to Elijah. "And you. You need to quit finding ways to weasel out of work."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Elijah said, flashing her a grin as he backed away. Whitney chased after him, leaving Fjord, Jester, and Caleb alone.

"I didn't think we'd be back in Berleben so soon," Caleb admitted.

"It might be fun?" Jester said.

"No time for fun," Fjord said. "You heard the woman. We go in, we get either medicine or another healer to help us out, then we leave."

"I have to agree with Fjord on this one," Caleb said. "We're already going to miss our rendezvous in Ice Haven at this rate."

"Okaaay," Jester said, letting her shoulders slump, "But if I see a new dress there, I'm buying it," she warned. The moment she finished her stomach gave off a loud growl.

"Well, let's see what we can rustle up in the meantime," Fjord said, and the three of them made their way back into the boat's hull. After a moment of searching, they found what could be loosely described as a kitchen—though in reality, it was just a collection of barrels and crates containing rations pushed aside to make room for a handful of mismatched stools.

Despite being below deck, Caleb swore he could taste the rot of the swamp tainting his bread and leaving a sour taste in his mouth long after he'd finished. Jester and Fjord returned to the main deck, while Caleb once again sequestered himself off in his hideaway.

He was running out of materials to transcribe spells, and though he doubted he'd be able to hunt down any in Berleben in the time allotted, it'd be worth a shot to be able to continue his work. He'd memorized all of his spells, naturally, but they were all so complex, especially the more powerful ones, that even the slightest flaw in his memory would render them useless. There was security in having them written down, though it meant he'd have to guard his spell book ever more preciously than before now that it contained world-altering magic.

He wasn't worried about his team finding it. All his notes were chicken scratch, and in Zemnian to boot. Even Jester, despite her magical-leanings, probably wouldn't be able to decipher the diagrams and messy runes, but just the same, he shouldn't let it leave his side anymore. No matter how much they insisted on another bathhouse trip.

Several hours into his study, he heard two sets of familiar claws clicking against the wood. Nott approached, something dark dangling out of her mouth, with Frumpkin trailing behind, meowing incessantly.

Nott paused in front of him and took a moment to swallow whatever she'd been eating.

"Was that a rat?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Maybe," Nott said, licking her lips clean. "Tasted like mead."

"I'll take your word for it," Caleb said, closing his spell book and giving her his full attention.

"We're almost to the docks. We don't have to get off if we don't want to, but I thought you'd like to know," she said.

"No, no, we should go," he said. Nott offered her hand, and he let her pull him up. Following her lead, they wove through the cargo hold and towards the stairs.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder. Appraising him.

He cocked his head as they padded up the stairs. "What do you mean?"

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Yeah. Nodded off a couple times."

"But not in bed."

"No. Couldn't sleep," he confessed as they reached the main deck.

"You've been working in your spellbook a lot."

"Just doing a little clean up here or there."

"All night and all day today?" she asked, scanning him with her golden eyes.

"Might as well put the time to good use," he said with a noncommittal shrug. Along the side of the boat, the crew began to secure ropes to one of Berleben's rickety docks.

Nott stepped closer to him, wrapping a hand in the fabric of his coat that made him pause. "Caleb…" she began softly, dragging her eyes up to meet his, brows pressed together in concern. "If you were…planning something. You would tell me, right?"

He sighed and leaned down to swing an arm around her, pressing her close and resting his head on her bony shoulder where their dirty hair tangled together. So she couldn't see his face. "Of course, I would."

"Eyes up here, y'all," shouted Whitney to everyone in earshot. She stood on top of a crate with her hands on her hips.

Caleb pulled back and straightened, trying to keep the relief off his face.

Nott opened her mouth to continue speaking, but Whitney beat her to it. "Thirty minutes," she shouted as the crew gathered around her. Yasha, Molly, and Beau wandered over from various corners of the boat to come stand by Caleb and Nott while Whitney continued her speech about punctuality and threatening to leave people behind.

"Everybody go it?" Whitney asked, surveying the gaggle of people before her.

She was meet with a rumble of 'Yes, Captain's.

"Alright, dismissed," she said and stepped off the crate.

"Where's Fjord and Jester?" Caleb asked Molly before Nott could resume conversation.

"She was getting a mean headache, so she's back in the crew's quarters," Molly said. "Fjord's with her."

"So we either need to find medicine or grab another healer and bring them back to the ship," Caleb said.

"Should we all split up and look then?" Nott asked.

"This town might be a bit too dangerous for that. Groups of three and two might be better," Caleb said. He might be fine on his own, but he wasn't about to lose a party member to a rogue troll after all he'd sacrificed to keep everyone alive already.

"Uh, seems, like a good plan," Beau said. "I think me and Yasha could make a good team. The team of two, I mean. Because we're both strong," she said, rubbing her neck.

"Subtle," Molly mumbled in her ear with a wicked grin.

She punched him in the arm. "Shut up."

Yasha just rolled her eyes.

"I guess I'm coming with you lot then," Molly said, directing his blinding grin at Caleb and Nott. "Should be fun."

"Something like that," Caleb agreed. Beau's clumsy flirting was a blessing in disguise if it meant he didn't have to be the sole focus on Nott's insightful gaze for the next half hour.

With that, the shore party disembarked. The dock creaked under the weight of their boots.

The black lake spread out behind them like an oil slick, with odd, crooked tree branches puncturing the surface like broken fingers, weighed down by moss and slime. The dock to which The Yohimbe was moored stretched over the dark water on perilously thin stilts with several trailing claw marks at the base. Some looked fresh.

The familiar town of Berleben grew from the mire in front of them in various states of decay, as ramshackle and off-kilter as Caleb remembered. The area smelled overwhelmingly of stagnant water and rotting plant life, that, when combined with the thick, boiling air made even breathing feel laborious.

"We'll take right and you go left?" Beau suggested as they stood at the end of the dock.

"See you in thirty minutes," Molly said, shooting Yasha a playful grin before starting off in the opposite direction. The two groups broke apart, and Nott caught up to Molly's side while Caleb trailed behind, trying to process all of Berleben's overwhelmingly unpleasant sensations.

To their left, several more boats were moored to the docks, motionless in the still water. Sailors and merchants loaded and unloaded their cargo, carrying mysterious crates and sacks to and fro. Berleben's trading distract was a patchwork of impermanent fishmonger-style stands crammed between actual storefronts covered in so much lichen they must've predated the Empire. At times Caleb could scarcely tell where the swamp ended and where the buildings began.

They passed several stalls full of what you'd expect from a swamp trading post—jagged fishing spears, nets woven with broken glass, fruit already half-rotten, and linens stained with the bog's grime. Pale fish with blind eyes hung from hooks, attracting swarms of flies.

"I know it's unlikely, but if you guys notice any nice paper or ink, please let me know," Caleb said, forcing himself to speak above the din of the swamp and marketplace combined.

"And a new dress for Jester," Molly added. "If we have the time."

Caleb nodded. It was a good thought. He wasn't sure any of the three of them really understood Jester's taste, but the sentiment would at least lift her spirits. Mollymauk was good about that.

"Oh, that looks promising," Molly said, pulling them towards a shop with dusty bottles in the window. They entered the ill-lit store just to find it even hotter and more humid than the outside air. Sweat rolled down Caleb's neck soaking into his collar. He ignored it in favor of scanning the menagerie of wares piled on every shelf. Potions and elixirs of all sorts covered every available surface. Acids bubbled green, and tonics caught the light that wasn't there, glinting golden in the shade. Nott poked at blackened, opaque flask in the corner that leaked smoke.

"How can I help?" asked a rough voice. A female halfling, middle-aged though her pockmarked face aged her further, popped up from behind the counter. She held a pipe lazily in a gnarled hand and scanned them with disinterest. "You look like the adventuring sort," she concluded.

"Right you are," Molly said, walking up to speak with the woman. "We're in need of—"

"Sold out of health potions," she said, cutting him off. She used her pipe to gesture to the singular area of blank space in the store—a narrow bit of shelf where the imprint of several bottles in the dust still remained. "Gotta wait for the next herb supply before I can make more," she said.

"Ah, I see," Molly said with a frown, flicking his tail as his considered their next option.

"Have things been dangerous in the swamp recently?" Caleb asked and took a step forward as well.

The halfling laughed, rough and gravely from a lifetime of smoking. "Honey, things are always dangerous in Labenda."

"More than usual?" Caleb asked, fighting down a sigh.

She took another draft on her pipe, pausing to consider the question for several moments before blowing two streams of thick smoke out her nose. "A little bit. Apparently, a couple weeks back some other of you adventuring types got the merrows all riled up. They've been a little feisty ever since."

"What a weird coincidence," Nott said.

"Truly strange," Molly added.

"Uh-huh," the halfling said, giving them a critical look.

"You wouldn't happen to know if anyone still has any type of healing supplies on them? We're passing through and we've got a sick friend on board," Molly said voice that clearly was trying to play at her sympathies.

She raised a thinning eyebrow at him. "No."

"What about a healer? Someone we could pay to—" Caleb started.

"There's a temple down at the end of the district," she said. "You can try and find a healer there, but these days even the fishermen have been running them ragged."

Molly sighed before meeting Caleb's gaze. "I guess that's where we're headed then."

Letting Nott take one last longing glance at the store, the three left and continued on their way.

"Did you see all her potions, Caleb?" Nott asked, twisting again to get another glance at the storefront. "I wonder how many of those I could make."

"With the right ingredients and a little practice, all of them, I'm sure," Caleb said, and a grin split her face.

"You know, Nott, I've heard Ice Haven is big on alchemy too. I'll bet they have loads of shops just like that one," Molly said.

"Preferably less humid," Caleb said and wiped the sweat of his brow.

"Hopefully Beau and Yasha are having more luck than we are," Molly said, glancing around them at the variety of wares that were anything but healing supplies. Berleben had a more diverse population that Zadash, probably thanks to the sheltering nature of the Labenda Swamp. Lizardfolk passed them with necklaces made of fishbones, a kenku draped in hanging moss tried to sell them warped candles, and even a tortle lumbered past them with old broken arrows sticking out of his shell.

After another ten minutes of weaving through the market district, they found the edge of it, marked by a mammoth banyan tree that grew on top of a decomposing stone temple. It's pale roots, each as thick as Caleb's thigh, flowed over the roof, curling in and out of windows and crushing the stonework under their weight before continuing up into a massive trunk that broke into an explosion of branches far over their heads. With the dappled sunlight filtering through, it felt like looking up at the rippling surface of a river while submerged beneath.

After pulling his gaze away from the spectacle, Caleb focused on the lichen-covered building before them. The interior of the temple seemed dark, causing Molly to pause and look back at Nott and Caleb for confirmation.

Before they could make a decision, a human woman, old a sin, stepped out of the interior. Her loose skin draped off her casually, mirroring the banyan tree's roots along with her long, tangled hair. She surveyed them over a large pair of fogged-over glasses that rested on the edge of her sharp nose.

"Healers are booked today if that's what you're after," she said before they could get a word out.

"We're willing to pay—" Molly began.

"Even the beggars are. But there's a little girl at The Lovely Jug who got caught up in a glass net this morning, and four brothers bleeding out outside The Ruthless Willow because fish people bit their legs off," she said and hobbled past them, leaning on a walking stick just as gnarled as she was.

"When will they be back?" Caleb asked.

"Oh, they'll be running themselves thin until after sundown. Pick an inn and stick there a couple days and I'll send them around when one of them has a moment," she suggested.

"I'm afraid our needs are a bit more pressing," Molly said, catching up to walk beside her. "You see one of our friends has fallen ill, so we really need a healer to come visit her on our boat before we depart."

She laughed throatily at that, then looked to him with a resigned smile. "Half the people in the city are ill. Joining the waiting list is the only way to receive our temple's services. I'm sorry," she said earnestly, patting Mollymauk's bicep with a brittle hand.

They watched her wander off into Berleben's mess of buildings before turning to each other.

"What now?" Nott asked, looking to Caleb, who could only shrug.

"We need to start heading back. We're going to run out of time," he said with a frown.

"Hopefully Beau and Yasha found something," Molly said, running his hands through his hair.

"What will we do if they didn't?" Nott asked. "What about Jester?"

Caleb sighed, kicking a pebble by his shoe. It sunk into the lake with a 'plop'. "We'll just have to be careful not to get injured until we get to Ice Haven."

"Shouldn't be too difficult," Molly reasoned. "Besides, she could still get better by herself before we get there. These things usually pass on their own."

So it was that with heads hung low in defeat and with slumped shoulders, Molly, Caleb, and Nott made their way back towards where The Yohimbe was moored. As they rounded the corner and the familiar barge came into view, so did the two tall figures standing by the beginning of the dock. Beau and Yasha chatted with each other while crew members filtered past them and boarded the vessel.

Upon seeing them, Nott scampered forward to meet them.

"Any luck?" she and Beau asked at the same time.

"Guess that means no," Caleb murmured, and Molly hummed in agreement.

"We did find some more nettle," Yasha said, offering up a fist-size package up for viewing.

"The shopkeep said we should trying putting it in tea this time," Beau said. "Couldn't tell if he was bullshitting us or not."

Molly chuckled. "Yeah, you were probably scammed, but it's worth a shot anyway."

"If we had more time…" Yasha trailed off, glancing back at The Yohimbe, where no doubt Whitney was aboard, scowling with crossed arms and waiting for time to be up.

"We've only got about five more minutes," Caleb said helplessly. "Did you find any paper or ink?"

"Or something for Jester?" Molly asked.

Beau shrugged. "The first booth over there has some bins of clothes, but we didn't have the time to stop and look through," she said, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder at a nearby stall.

"Worth a shot I suppose," Molly said, leaving Caleb's side for the booth beyond.

"I guess we'll go take this to Jester then," Yasha said, looking down at the package in her large hands. She glanced up at Caleb, then over to Molly, then back to Caleb. "He loses track of time easily. Can you make sure he gets on the boat?" she asked.

"Yeah," Caleb said with a nod.

Beau and Yasha turned toward the boat, while Nott paused between them and Caleb, biting her lip.

"Go see Jester. I'll be fine for a couple minutes out here," he said.

With one last glance at him, Nott broke from his side to catch up with the two women ahead of her.

Caleb leaned back on a crate to wait. He hadn't found his paper, so he'd need to come up with other activities to occupy his time on board from now on. Maybe reread that subpar Xhorhasian romance novel? Maybe not. It was unpleasant the first time around, and now that he knew about the events that were going to unfurl in the years to come, he'd had enough of Xhorhas, thanks.

He checked the shadows again before pushing himself off the crate. Around him, crew members began to work at the knots anchoring The Yohimbe to the docks. It was time to retrieve a certain purple tiefling from being stranded in the swamp.

Just as Caleb stepped towards the stand, Mollymauk stepped out with a swathe of peach fabric in his hands and a satisfied grin on his face.

Caleb gestured towards The Yohimbe with a look that he hoped convey some sense of urgency and stepped onto the dock towards the boat. Molly swung the fabric over his shoulder and began to push his way through the throng of people between them. The embroidery on his coat snagged on the jagged armor of a passing triton and the force sent them both spinning towards the ground.

Molly planted his heels at the last moment and steadied himself, but the triton wasn't so dexterous and landed on his back with a grunt, dreadlocks flying wild behind him.

"Woah, sorry about that, friend," Molly said, offering the man a hand. "I think my coat must've caught on your armor there."

The triton growled, but accepted Molly's hand and let him pull him up. "Why don't you watch where—" he paused mid-sentence, face screwing up in confusion as he looked at Mollymauk.

Molly released his hand, but the triton did not, keeping him there.

"I apologize, but I really need to get going," Molly said, trying to pull away and take a step towards Caleb, who was already reaching for his component pouch just in case.

The triton slipped his hand up and grabbed Molly by the wrist instead, twisting his arm around and pulling the back of Molly's hand close to his face.

"Ow ow ow," Molly said, face twisted in pain as he went for a scimitar with his free hand.

The triton's eye narrowed at the sight of Molly's tattoos. The fins lining his body bristled as he narrowed his eyes. He let a name fall off his lip, heavy and rough with anger.

"Lucien."

"Oh, fuck me," Molly snarled, spinning around and trying to slice the man on a partially drawn scimitar.

The triton dropped his wrist as he dodged Molly's swipe and stumbled several feet back out of the blade's radius, heels inches away from the dock's edge. The triton went for his sword and Molly feinted left, stepping in and snaking his tail behind the man to pull his legs out from under him. With a boot to the gut, Molly launched him into the lake with an explosion of black water.

"Time to go!" he shouted, running for Caleb, who didn't need to be told twice.

The moment Caleb's foot touched the boat, a loud splash erupted from behind him, pelting him with water.

Caleb whipped around to find the soaking triton pulling himself onto the dock. He snatched Molly's ankle out of the air, slamming the man down with a painful crack.

Molly groaned and tried to twist out of the man's iron grip, kicking him in the face with his free leg, but the triton held tight, blood leaking down his face.

Caleb reached for his component pouch again, but the triton was already on top of Molly and trying to pin his arms.

Caleb's mind raced. Magic missile was the only thing he had that wouldn't hit Mollymauk, but he'd reviewed so many spells in the past twenty-four hours without giving that once a glance. It was so basic why would he need to? But in his mind the magical patterns were hazy at the edges and he tried to cycle through runes for the missing piece of the enchantment.

Rolling on the dock, Molly elbowed the man's armored chest, and the triton kneed him in the ribs in turn with another loud crack. Molly cried out in pain and headbutted the man. It knocked his head back, but he refused to loosen his grip. He pinned Molly's hand behind his back and reached for a crooked knife strapped to his belt.

"Caleb," Molly cried, locking gazes with the man in front of him. "Fire!"

And so Caleb did.

…

 _I'd make a playlist for this fic but all it'd be is 'Trust' by the Neon Trees seven times with 'Liar Liar' by Avicii thrown in once for good measure._

 _Also y'all are totally welcome to point out typos and the like. I do definitely proofread my stuff, but I'm positive some slip through anyway. Commenters are the sugar in my tea. The sun in my sky. The grated parmesan on my roasted asparagus._


	6. Shoelaces & Spiced Wine

**Chapter Six:**

 **Of Shoelaces & Spiced Wine**

 _"_ _It won't hurt me. It's friendly fire."_

 _"_ _That doesn't always mean what you think it means."_

…

"Caleb," Molly cried, locking gazes with the man frozen in front of him. "Fire!"

And so Caleb did.

He clicked his fingers, the metal fingers of his Glove of Blasting clinked together. Three flaming bolts erupted from the rune on the back of his hand, jetting through the air, slamming into the triton's chest, and exploding on impact. The inferno engulfed both men and sent the triton flying backward off the dock. His charred body smashed into the lake with an ear-splitting hiss and a violent burst of steam.

Caleb rushed forward as the black smoke on the dock cleared. "Help! We need help!" he shouted over his shoulder at the boat before slamming down onto his knees beside Mollymauk.

Mollymauk coughed, raising his head and surveying the scene with squinting eyes. He'd shielded his face with his forearms, so only his hands, arm, and bits of his hair had taken the brunt of the blast, scorched black and still smoking.

Molly looked to Caleb, coughing out another puff of smoke. "Well, that worked," he said, managing a crooked grin. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto the charred dock.

"Are you alright, Mollymauk? Can you stand? How badly are you burned?" Caleb asked, hand's fluttering over Molly's body in panic as he tried to decide on his next course of action.

"I've had worse," Molly said with a quick laugh that turned into another cough. Something sounded wet and broken in his lungs. "You might need to help me up though," he admitted with a wince. "I think my ankle's broken."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, that I can do," Caleb said, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. The feeling of turning his magic on Mollymauk still rang raw and clear in his mind, playing on repeat. He reached for the necklace that wasn't there, catching his mistake a moment too late. He had to focus on the immediate. On the tangible.

He pulled Molly up off the dock enough so that he could wrap an arm around him to support his weight. Throwing his knees into it, Caleb lifted, groaning under the exertion until Molly managed to get his good leg under him to help support his own weight.

"Shall we?" Mollymauk asked breathlessly, looking ahead towards to boat.

Caleb nodded, taking a step forward that Molly matched. His flesh burned under Caleb's touch, almost too hot to stand, but Caleb ignored it and devoted all his energy to keeping rhythm with the limping Mollymauk.

The made it several feet towards The Yohimbe before Beau, Yasha, and Nott emerged, rushing towards them. The women pelted them with a swarm of questions neither had the breath to answer.

Yasha reached to pick Molly up to carry him, but as she lifted his legs off the ground he hissed in pain.

"Okay, not the ribs, not the ribs," he said through gritted teeth.

Yasha set him back down, settling for Caleb's idea and wrapping her large arm around him from the other side.

"Who did this to you?" she asked as they hobbled towards the ship now that Beau and Nott had stopped asking their questions.

"No one of interest," Molly said, forcing a grin.

"Molly," Yasha said, narrowing her eyes at the man.

"An old friend, apparently," he mumbled then broke off into another cough.

"I see," Yasha said. "Is he-?"

"Caleb took care of him," Molly said, shooting Caleb a grateful look.

Yasha mirrored the gesture. "Thank you, Caleb."

He avoided their gazes and focused on landing his steps on the uneven dock. "Yeah, well you told me to make sure he got back on board, so…"

"You had him babysitting me?" Molly asked Yasha in a playfully offended tone.

She attempted a shrug. "Someone has to."

They hoisted Molly back aboard where Elijah and Whitney stood waiting.

"Y'all aren't very lucky, are you?" Whitney concluded, looking the scorched and bloodied Mollymauk up and down.

"Not particularly, it seems," Caleb said. His shoulder ached under Molly's dead weight.

"Whit, if he's got a bruised rib those hammocks are hellish. We can't put him in the crew's quarters," Elijah said. "If we could put down some pallets—"

"We're packed full, Elijah," Whitney said, throwing her hands in the air. "I just don't see where—"

"I know a place," Caleb said. "There's a gap in the crates near the front of the ship."

"Check on it, Elijah," Whitney said, nodding him towards the stairs.

Elijah ran off into the hull. Within moments he sprinted back up the stairs and slid to a stop before them, panting and smiling. "He's right! There might even be enough room for the other tiefling if we're smart about it."

"One day in and we're already making a medical bay," Whitney said to no one in particular, shaking her head. "This trip was cursed from the start." She sighed then straightened, eyes locking on a set of nearby crew members. "You two, follow Elijah to the cargo bay and give him a hand," she barked.

Elijah led the two crew members down while Caleb, Molly, Yasha, Beau, and Nott followed at a slower pace. Fjord waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What the hell kinda shopping trip did y'all go on?" he asked, taking in Molly's injuries with wide eyes.

"We'll explain later," Caleb said as they hobbled past him after Elijah. The group reached Caleb's secret haven to find the crew already pushing around boxes and rearranging barrels to maximize the space. A third crew member pushed past them with an armful of blankets that she spread out on the wooden floor.

Elijah lifted a heavy barrel off the ground, pushing his biceps to their limit as he set it on top of a shoulder-high set of crates. He grabbed a nearby rope, wrapping it around the barrel to secure it. Lifting a leg, he braced himself against the crate so he could throw his weight back to tighten the knot. The rope pulled taught for a moment, then gave out from under him, sending him falling to the floor with the barrels and crates close behind. Elijah yelped, scrambling out of the way as the barrel smashed against the ground and the first crate split open, ejecting apples at frightening speeds at their ankles.

"Oh god," Elijah said, ignoring the apples and crawling over to the barrel. It cracked somewhere on impact, spilling something dark across the floor that smelled smoky and alcoholic.

"Elijah!" Whitney roared as she pounded down the stairs, jogging into view with patchwork pillows under each arm.

"Wasn't me!" he called back, slamming a hand against the flaw in the barrel in an attempt to stem the flow. "I guess we're having wine tonight," he joked as the deep red liquid spilled through his fingers.

"Elijah Cotton," Whitney said, tossing the pillows onto the makeshift pallets to point an accusing index finger at her brother. "If you did this on purpose I will string you up so fast—"

"Oh just take it out of my pay, Whit," Elijah said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I'm planning on it," she said with a grin. "You thank your lucky stars it was the spiced wine and not the Berduskan Dark or I'd have you working for free for years."

Elijah sighed, turning to the Mighty Nein, who watched the spectacle in silence. "Take some of my advice folks. Never go into business with family."

Whitney cackled and slapped him on the back. "See, now that's the first intelligent thing you've said in a long time. Now, I don't want my crew too distracted while we're still in the swamp, so I think I might just need you to keep your hand on that barrel until later tonight," she said and then spun on her heels and strode off.

"You're joking. Whitney, come back and tell me you're joking," Elijah shouted. He growled and hoisted the wine barrel on his shoulder with a grunt, keeping one hand pressed against the crack as the wine rained down on him, and plodded after her.

The last two crew members finished folding blankets to form Jester's makeshift bed, then moved to collect the apples scattered across the floor.

This allowed Yasha and Caleb the space to maneuver Molly through the last of the cargo maze. They set his scimitars aside and lowered him down onto his pallet.

Yasha helped situate Molly, so Caleb took a second to roll a couple loose apples towards the overturned crate. A flash of color caught his eye, giving him pause. He took a moment to study the bottom of the crate. The earlier crash displaced some sort of false bottom, revealing a sliver of something bright and colorful beneath that he couldn't quite make out.

Caleb filed that tidbit away for later. Maybe he would find something interesting to do on this trip after all.

The crew members finished repacking the apples, then left the Mighty Nein in peace, Yasha and Caleb still kneeling by Molly while Beau and Nott hovered behind.

"You should let Fjord know we've got a place for Jester now," Caleb said to them. Beau nodded and disappeared back into the depths of the cargo hold with Nott in tow.

"What hurts?" Yasha murmured to Molly, who laughed quietly in response.

"Nothing I haven't slept off before," he insisted. "I'm afraid my coat's in quite a state, though," he said, frown audible.

A pang of guilt knotted Caleb's gut as he saw the truth in the man's words. His fire scorched through bits of the fabric on shoulders and hood, leaving the larger areas around the holes burnt and blackened. Caleb was no expert on clothing, but he did know damage like that would compel most people to throw it out, or at least repurpose the garment as a rag.

"Ah, and it got Jester's shawl too," Molly said, pulling the peach fabric off his shoulders and unfolding it before him with a disappointed frown. Only small bits of it here or there remained the original color. With a sigh, he dropped the fabric, letting it float down to rest on his lap.

"It's not that bad," Yasha said, prodding at the holes in his jacket. "Maybe it's repairable?"

Molly shrugged off his coat, but it caught on his shoulders. Yasha leaned in, helping him pull it off his stiff arms. He dug his heels into the ground to help himself lean his torso forward, but he abandoned the action with a wince.

"Your ankle," Caleb said, as the thought struck him. "We might need to bandage it."

"Yup. Probably," Molly managed through clenched teeth as he waited for the wave of pain to pass.

Yasha wiggled his coat off the rest of the way, dropping the rainbow garment on top of his head. "Help me take off his boots, Caleb," she instructed, shifting around to reach Molly's far leg.

"Seriously now. I haven't been crippled. I can take off my own boots," Molly insisted, voice muffled as he pulled his coat off his head, but the last bit snagged on his horns.

Yasha ignored him and worked on the top of his laces. The leather ties ran down the sides of Molly's boots from mid-thigh to ankle in a complicated pattern Caleb hadn't seen before. He watched Yasha work at them for a moment before attempting to mirror her movements. Starting at Molly's thigh, he began to work slack into the laces, realizing that he'd been landed with Molly's bad leg, and would, therefore, need much looser laces to be able to slip the boot off without injuring the man.

He tugged at the cords, working the slack in inch by inch. Grommet by grommet. Knuckles brushing against the patterned pants beneath.

By the time he'd progressed to Molly's knees, Yasha tugged the other boot off.

"Have you ever considered buckles maybe?" Caleb asked, referencing his own boots that took a sixth of the time to don and doff.

Molly chuckled, pulling his coat free with one last tug. He flashed Caleb a toothy grin, disheveled hair falling in his face. "Not until now, honestly."

Caleb snorted, returning to his work.

Yasha shifted again to help Molly out of his vest with the puffed sleeves. Caleb heard her peeling back the dark fabric from his scorched skin, Molly sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth.

Caleb focused on the laces with all his mental acuity. Trying not to think about burning his friends. Trying not to think about burning people he cared about.

Once he worked enough slack into the length of the laces, he glanced up at Molly again to find the tiefling watching him with quiet interest. The realization of the wild intimacy of the moment backhanded him, and Caleb diverted his gaze, focusing on the corner of an inauspicious crate to the side.

"Ready?" Caleb asked the corner of the crate.

"Probably," Molly said, lifting his leg and tilting his toes to assist Caleb in his task.

Directing his attention back to Molly's leg, Caleb cupped a hand beneath his calf and used the other to pull at the toe of the boot. It gave way and Caleb shifted to gingerly working at Molly's heel.

What a bizarre timeline.

Molly inhaled sharply again as his heel slipped out of the boot's foot.

"Sorry," Caleb mumbled, and he pulled the rest of the boot off with ease. This exposed Molly's swollen ankle: puffy and flushed an angry fuchsia.

"Well, that's about what I expected," Molly said, lifting his leg to get a better view of his own ankle while Yasha tugged at the hem of his shirt. He swatted her away.

"You think it's broken?" Caleb asked

Molly set his leg down softly before turning his attention to Caleb and shrugging. "Maybe? Hurts something fierce. I can't really—oh! Just who we need," Molly grinned, gaze drifting over Caleb's shoulder.

Fjord stepped into the alcove, carrying Jester in his arms. She had her arms draped around his neck, head nestled in his shoulder with an expression that looked a bit too smug.

"Oh, Molly! Beau told me you got jumped," Jester said.

"Beau told the truth. I've had an unusually high number of strangers attacking me recently," Molly said with a laugh, but his fingers drummed on his thigh a bit too quickly.

"I've noticed," Fjord said. He knelt down on one knee and placed Jester on top of her pallet.

She didn't let go of his neck.

"Um, Jester?" Fjord prompted.

"Yes?" She asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

Fjord shot her a look.

Jester sighed, releasing her arms and flopping back on her pallet, hand draped over her forehead dramatically. "Okay, Fjord. Just leave me to die then."

Fjord rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the floor. Nott squeezed past his legs to kneel by Caleb and Yasha while Beau stood behind Fjord, pushing herself up on tiptoe to see.

"Geez, Molly, you look like shit," she said.

"Right back at you," Molly said. "You should've seen the other guy."

Caleb looked to him as he spoke. Sometime during Jester and Fjord's conversation, Yasha stripped him of his shirt, leaving him half-naked save for his garish pants and spattering of mismatched jewelry. He was a canvas of scars and tattoos, and it took Caleb a moment to find the fist-sized bruise blossoming black by the edge of his ribs amidst the sprawling chaos.

The bruise held Caleb's gaze for a moment before he was drawn to Molly's bare forearms that rested in his lap.

Fire had pulled the skin hard and taught, broken only by ripples of peeling skin that flashed the raw flesh beneath. Angry, inflamed patches of deep red stained his arms like lepers' spots.

Caleb swallowed hard, looking away. He inhaled deep through his nose, willing the jittery, rising panic back down. Mollymauk was fine. The burns couldn't be helped. He did what he had to do to save the man's life. Mollymauk was fine.

"That looks like it hurts, Molly," Jester said. "If you want I can try and heal you?"

Molly nodded. "Well it smarts for sure, so I'd appreciate anything you can do for me."

She bobbed her head, lifting her hands in a familiar configuration. She closed her eyes to chant, her face pinched up, and the entire room leaned backward. Her hand dove into her skirt, withdrawing her handkerchief just in time to bury another sneeze within. She blew her nose for a minute straight before letting it sink to her lap and looking to Molly with bleary eyes.

"I'm sorry Molly, I tried really hard that time," she said, eyebrows pressed in concern as she pleaded.

"Oh, it's fine," he said waving her off. He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back on the curved wall behind him. "It just means we're going to have some time to enjoy each other's company."

Fjord sighed, lacing his hands together and placing them on the top of his head while he chewed on a thought. "I'm sure will pass more ports on the way there. Maybe we can actually find someone to help you guys out next time?" he suggested.

Mollymauk's smile fell as he glanced to Jester then back to Fjord. "I won't talk for her, but I'd rather just keep going to be honest. Especially after how our last shore excursion just went," he said.

Jester frowned at him. "Oh but Molly, your ankle."

He shrugged. "We're stuck on this ship for a week one way or another. Being trapped down here doesn't seem much different from being trapped up there. Besides, if I remember correctly, we're still running late."

"We are still behind two days," Caleb said.

Fjord ran his hands through his hair. "Okay, alright. Are you sure you're both okay with this?"

"If Molly's fine, then I am too," Jester said with a single, resolute nod.

"Do you need us to, like, get you anything? More pillows? Blankets?" Beau asked.

"You know," Molly said, letting a smile stretch his face. "Some of that spiced wine would be great."

…

Muffled shanties and the rhythmic pounding of dancing boots drifted down from the deck above, drowned out by the Mighty Nein's own laughter. Flickering candlelight bounced off their wine-flushed faces as Nott scooped herself another cup from the last dregs of the barrel.

Elijah managed to partially stipend the flow that afternoon, and even after the crew drank their fill they left half a barrel for the Mighty Nein to indulge in. The party sat in a half circle in the alcove, wine barrel in the middle with Nott still curled around it.

Mollymauk took a hearty swig from his metal mug before passing it along to Caleb, who mimicked the action, letting the alcohol spill over his tongue and down his throat. It was dry, bitter, sweet, and earthy all at once, and he could feel it burning a well-traveled path to his stomach. With a satisfied nod, he passed the mug to Beau. She knocked her head back, swallowing several times before throwing the empty cup to the ground with a loud clang.

"You guys saw that right?" she asked, words slurred with a drunken smile.

"Shhhh," Fjord hushed, but at about the same volume Beau had spoken. "You'll wake Jester," he said, nodding to the unconscious women, limbs spread akimbo on her pallet and snoring loudly behind them.

Caleb hummed in agreement. The spiced wine filled his brain with a pleasant warm static and tingled his fingers and toes. He wasn't half as drunk as he wanted or needed to be—by now Caleb knew how loose lipped alcohol made him—but he drank enough to take the weight of the day off.

"It's your turn, Beau," Molly prompted, watching her with a lazy smile. He leaned back against the wall, shirt on this time, with his coat bundled up and wedged behind him, mangled foot resting on a pillow.

"Shit," Beau mumbled, chewing on her thumb as her brow scrunched together. "Oh, I've got one," she said, slamming her fist down on her open palm. "When I was eight I almost died choking on a plum pit."

The group broke into snickers.

"Hey, seriously," Beau insisted, giving Fjord a little elbow. "I actually blacked out. Haven't eaten any of those damn fruit since."

"You're not supposed to eat the pits, you know?" Molly said with a wicked smile, tail flicking.

Beau gave him the finger. "Yeah, no shit, Molly."

Caleb chuckled and Molly shot him an appreciative glance.

Fjord reached for the mug Beau discarded, refilling it and taking a long drink himself before offering it to Yasha.

She took it in both hands, rubbing her thumbs along the worn metal, and staring at the dark contents.

"Come on, Yasha, just one," Beau asked, leaning forward and swaying a little.

"Some of us should stay sober," she pointed out, but a smile played on her lips anyways.

"Do it, do it, do it," Beau chanted, and Molly joined in. Caleb and Fjord settled for watching the muscular women with interest.

Yasha sighed, picked up the mug, and finished it off in one swallow while Beau cheered.

"Shhh!" Fjord said again, leaning over and bumping shoulders with her.

"I know, I know." Beau waved him off.

"Alright," said Yasha, straightening and sitting forward on her crate. "Um, I, uh, did my piercings myself," she said.

Molly hummed in approval.

"That's why my right ear has a lot more than my left," she said, tugging on her left earlobe. "I messed up so many times when I first started that I had to wait for my left ear to heal before I could put more in, and then…Well, I just haven't done it yet."

"You didn't tell me that story before you did my piercings," Molly said with an offended tone. Yasha met his gaze and his façade broke into a grin. "You should've told me I could've lost an ear to the process."

"I'll pierce your ears next, Molly. I'm an expert," Nott said graciously.

Beau swung her heavy arms around Caleb and Fjord, pulling them close. "Guys, guys, let's get matching piercings," she said, eyes wide with the genius of the idea.

"I vote tongue," Molly said, flicking his forked tongue at them.

"I'd do another ear piercing," Yasha said, looking up at the ceiling as she thought it over.

"I've got room for more there, and so do you, Nott," Molly said.

"It is prime real estate," Nott said sagely, tugging on her large ears.

"Fjord? Caleb?" Beau asked, head swiveling between the men she'd trapped beside her.

"I'm not sure—" Fjord started, then a hiccup broke him off. He paused for a moment then began to nod. "You know what? Sure. Why not? What the hell let's do this."

"Caleb?" Beau asked, and all eyes turned to him.

Caleb reflexively shrunk under the weight of their gaze. "Um, so we've had a lot of good discussion tonight. Maybe we save this one for tomorrow. When there's less wine involved."

"Laaaame," Beau said with a disappointed frown.

"Shhhhh," Fjord hissed.

Yasha tossed the cup to Nott, who refilled it, taking a long swig before passing it to Mollymauk.

"Well, hey now, that's not fair," Molly said, tilting the contents of the cup towards her so she could see and pointing at it with a clawed finger. "You've gone and made sure I'm next."

"I am a master strategist," Nott said with a toothy grin.

Molly finished off the cup before handing it back to Nott. "Alright," he started, and rubbed his hands together in thought. "Oh, tattoos!"

"We already know you have tattoos," Beau complained.

"But what you don't know," Molly continued, "Is that the next piece I want to get is another long snake," he leaned forward and gestured to the middle of his back, letting his thumb trail down down down. "That goes from my back piece and wraps all the way down my tail."

"I didn't know tails could be tattooed," Caleb said, glancing to Molly's still-flicking tail. He wondered if the ridges along the back would make things difficult.

Molly shrugged. "I don't see why not. I thought about looking for someone in Zadash, but it'd take a couple sessions. Plus time to heal. Maybe if we have more downtime after this debacle is done with," he said, gesturing to the ship itself. He handed the mug back to Nott, who pulled the same trick, but this time skipping Molly and offering it to Caleb.

With a sigh he took it. There was barely a spitful left. "Last one for me," he said, locking eyes with Nott and then knocking the drink back. He finished it off and tossed the mug back to her. His fingers taped together as he thought.

A fact none of the group knew about him, huh? He could fill volumes with what the Mighty Nein didn't know. Chiefly, that he was an enormously powerful time-traveling wizard from the future.

To his left Jester moaned, rolling over and disturbing the cat between her legs. Frumpkin meowed in dissatisfaction before resettling behind her knees.

"Frumpkin is based off a real cat," he said. There we go, that was something safe but interesting. "He's named after one I had growing up. Though that one was female."

Beau barked a laugh, opening her mouth but a series of loud sounds cut her off.

Boots stumbled down the stairs and the sound of the sloppy gait approached them. Elijah emerged from the dark, wine drunk and beaming.

"Evenin', y'all," he said then hiccupped. "I was wondering if any of you fine folks might be able to take a watch shift tonight. We're a little—" he hiccupped, "—incapacitated up top."

"I'll go," Yasha said, pushing herself off the crate.

Caleb raised his hand. "I can go after Yasha."

"Much obliged," Elijah said, swaying a little. The two of them vanished into the dark of the cargo hold, and Beau watched them leave.

"Alright, Nott, pour us another round," Beau said, at last directing her gaze at Nott.

Nott dipped the cup in, scraping the bottom of the barrel as she did.

"Maybe you should slow down," Molly said as Nott handed Beau another mug of wine. "You know you don't have to drink to share all your dark secrets with the rest of the team."

Beau huffed a laugh, taking another drink. "Easy for you to say. You've only got two years worth of secrets."

Molly opened his mouth to protest but then shut it. Instead he let his fingers drum on his thigh for a moment. "I suppose that's fair," he said to no one in particular.

"I mean honestly though—" Beau began.

"Shhhhh!" Fjord said.

"Give it a rest, Fjord," she said even louder, rolling her eyes. "She's out cold." Beau blinked as an idea hit her. She smirked, looking to the group. "You guys wanna try that thing where you put someone's hand in—"

"I think that's enough for the evening," Fjord said, grabbing hold of one of the ship's vertical supports and pulling himself upwards on unsteady legs.

"What are you talking about? The nights still young! Nott pour me another," she said, thrusting the already full mug at Nott. Wine sloshed over the side, soaking her hand and hitting the floor with a 'splat'. "Shit."

"Alrighty, bedtime for Beauregard," Fjord said, pulling her up by the upper arm.

"I feel great," she said, then lurched forward, pressing a hand to her mouth to stop the vomit.

"Don't you dare vomit below deck," Fjord said, taking a step towards the makeshift hallway.

"Mm-hm," Beau said, hand still pressed over her mouth. She left Fjord tow her away like a buoy towards the crew quarters, and they too vanished into the dark.

"She took the mug with her," Nott commented, staring into the blackness, a frown pulling at her lips that broke into a yawn.

"It's probably for the best," Caleb said.

A comfortable silence fell on the three of them. Nott, still curled around the barrel, rested her chin on the lid, staring off into space with heavy eyelids. Caleb sat between Molly and Jester's pallets with his thin legs crossed before him, wine heavy and warm in his belly, giving him that familiar buzz.

A glint of gold caught Caleb's eye, and he turned to see Molly shuffling his tarot cards. He flicked his fingers, letting singular cards roll through the gaps between them back and forth to rejoin the deck. With just the pads of his fingers, he cut the deck in thirds, rotating the center stack the collapsing them back into a pile before flipping them around again. Caleb could barely follow the movement of the cards, much less comprehend the skill and flexibility behind it. The flickering, rhythmic movements were equal parts mesmerizing and soothing.

"Are you going to do a reading?" Caleb asked.

Molly blinked, eyes focusing as he looked up to Caleb. His hands never stopped. "What?"

"The cards. Are you going to tell our fortunes?"

"Oh," Molly said, looking down at his cards in surprise as if they'd magically appeared in his hands. "No. Not tonight," he said at last. He forced himself to collapse the deck again and stared at them in his hands. With a sighed he stowed them, and leaned his head back, rubbing his eyes. "Alright, I want to try something. Don't freak out," he said, glancing at Caleb.

Caleb blinked and sat up straighter as his fuzzy thoughts tried to decipher that sentence. Mollymauk Tealeaf saying 'don't freak out' could mean anything.

Molly pulled one of his scimitars close, and before Caleb could get a word out, Molly sliced his own forearm. Blood pooled from the slice, staining the earlier bandages red, and bubbled out from the red eye tattooed on his neck.

"What the hell," Caleb hissed, pushing himself backward and out of Molly's reach.

Dark liquid pooled on Molly's face and neck, leaking from his nose and ears.

Caleb's eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything he could do.

The liquid floated off his face, ignoring gravity to coalesce into a maroon orb. It hung, suspended for a moment, then dropped to the floor with a splash.

Molly chuckled then looked up to Caleb. "See, I told you not to freak out, but that very much looks like the face of a man freaking out."

Caleb swallowed hard, looking to Nott for support only to find her passed out and drooling into the wine barrel. "What was that?" he asked, slowly, trying to calm his racing heart.

Molly shrugged. "Hangover cure."

"Hangover cure," Caleb repeated, finally steadying his breathing. "So in your mind, it's better to be bleeding and sober than vice versa."

Molly leaned his head back against the wall, hands returning to beating a silent rhythm against his thigh as he stared at the ceiling. "The wine wasn't helping. Figured I might as well skip the hangover then."

Caleb nodded, but the blossoming red stain on Molly's bandages drew his attention. "But you've gone and ruined your bandages now."

Molly glanced down and tsk'ed in disappointment. He leaned over to grab the roll of fresh bandages out of Jester's pile of scattered possessions, then worked at unspooling his bleeding arm. The last layer clung to his mottled flesh, and Molly clenched his teeth as he unpeeled the last bit of bandage—stained with yellowing lymph.

Caleb grimaced and looked away.

"Sorry. It's pretty gross right now," Molly said.

Caleb's stomach churned as he looked back to him. "No, no. I've—I've dealt with my fair share of burns before."

Molly paused to look up at Caleb.

"It's—" Caleb started, but his throat tightened at the words died.

Mollymauk waited for Caleb to continue, but once it became clear he wouldn't, Molly spoke instead. "Caleb you aren't—you don't feel _guilty_ about this, do you?" He cocked his head, brow slightly furrowed as he watched Caleb. "Because that's a pretty bullshit reaction to have."

Caleb chuckled coolly, sinking down so that his collar came up to his ears. "I feel guilty about a great many things," he muttered under his breath. The alcohol and guilt churning in his stomach turned sour.

"Caleb," Molly said.

Caleb stared at Nott. Any moment it seemed she'd lose her balance on the edge of the barrel and her head would drop into the drum.

"Caleb," Molly said, snapping and dragging Caleb's attention to him. He pointed an accusing finger at the center of Caleb's chest. "Don't you dare try and pin this on you. It's _his_ —fuck," Molly broke off with a sneer directed at no one, running an agitated hand through his hair.

"What's wrong?" Caleb asked, guilt replaced by worry as he scanned Molly's wounds for the source of his reaction.

"Just—mm," Molly managed, biting down on the words as they tried to escape. He looked up at the ceiling, beating down on his thigh now with a closed fist and pressing the other hand to his face. "It's—just—fucking _him_ , Caleb. Every time I turn my back there's someone there ready to knife it because—" he broke off, putting the palms of his hands over his eyes.

Ah.

"I," Caleb paused, gathering his words. "That seems like a reasonable thing to be upset about," he said lamely.

Mollymauk laughed, voice pitching higher and strained. "I just thought…" he sighed, covering his mouth.

"What did you think?" Caleb prompted quietly.

"I thought this would work," Mollymauk murmured, eyes unfocused as he played with his hands in his lap. "With the circus, two years and not a peep, but now. Three times, Caleb. Three times in like two months. It's ludicrous. I can't—ugh," he broke off into another sigh. "I can't—I can't justify..."

The sentiment almost surprised a laugh out of Caleb. Mollymauk wanted to leave the group now? What a backward timeline indeed. "We, all of us, have baggage, Mollymauk," Caleb said.

"Okay, sure yeah, but my baggage—his baggage has tried to kill us. Twice now," he said with a frantic, mirthless smile. His fingers grew clumsy as his hands trembled. He wrapped the new bandages around his palm, trying to lace them around his fingers, but the bandages were too loose and left uneven bulges of fabric that decreased his mobility further. His shaking hands dropped the wad of bandages, and it rolled across the floor, unspooling itself in a white line, before knocking against Caleb's leg.

Caleb sighed, picked it up, and crawled back over, placing himself on the edge of Molly's pallet, putting his knees a hair breath away from his thighs. The tiefling froze, watching him with unblinking red eyes. His tail stilled.

"You're not going to be able to do much if you wrap it like that," Caleb said. He offered his open hands.

"Um, yeah sure okay," Molly mumbled, lowering his injured hand to Caleb's palm.

"It's not true you know," Caleb said softly, taking Molly's hand in his own. He received skin-to-skin contact so infrequently that it always sent an electric shock through him. He tried to ignore it and focus on undoing Molly's attempt at wrapping. Callouses dotted his hands along the insides of his fingers and his scorched flesh radiated heat onto Caleb's open palm.

Molly blinked away a thought to focus on Caleb's words, providing a delayed, "What's not true?"

He'd left several of his gaudy rings on and now, in consequence, his fingers were beginning to swell around them.

Caleb frowned, taking the first ring and slowly twisting it, trying to get it over Molly's knuckle. "That you're the only one with dangerous baggage," he said.

Molly began to breathe again. "Okay, but no one else's has—"

"Do you remember the Victory Pit?" Caleb asked. The ring gave way, and Caleb pulled it off Molly's finger with a feather-light touch before moving to the next one.

Molly cocked his head. "Sure." His voice dropped back to its normal range. Good. That was good.

Caleb took a deep breath before continuing. "There was…a man there." The next ring came off. "A man who I knew many years ago. If he had recognized me, we could've all be thrown in jail. Or executed maybe. At the very least I would've been," he said. The words tasted sour in his mouth, cutting through the thick taste of the spiced wine.

Molly watched Caleb take off his final ring in silence before answering. "Okay, I understand…but he didn't recognize you, Caleb. While people-people still think I'm him. It's happened to me three times now. And two out of three have been dangerous."

"Mmm," Caleb hummed in acknowledgment. Taking the end of the fresh bandage, he wrapped a loop around Molly's wrist. "Hold this," he said, and Molly dutifully pressed a finger down to hold it in place.

"I, I just, what we have, the Mighty Nein, is so good, you know, and I hate that I'm—he's the one…" Molly broke off with a frustrated growl.

Caleb looped the bandage around Molly's thumb. "You feel like you're putting the group in danger," he said, almost whispering.

Mollymauk didn't answer.

Caleb brought the wrapping back across the back of his hand, then forward again to spool it around his index finger. "You know, the night before we fought the Iron Shepherds, I almost ran."

"What?"

"Yeah. I told myself it was because I didn't want to make trouble for the rest of the group, but…I think I was just scared. And I'm not saying you are," Caleb clarified quickly, refusing to meet Molly's eyes. "We're nothing alike. Your reasons sound nobler than mine, but I do know we're better off together. Stronger. Happier. As a group."

"Nothing alike," Molly repeated with a huff of laughter that had an odd edge to it Caleb couldn't place.

He frowned. It was the truth after all. Molly was hedonistic, aimless, overwhelming, and reckless to a fatal degree. But he was courageous too. And selfless. He died for someone he met a month earlier for god's sake. He was a good man with this vibrant zeal for life that was foreign to Caleb. Always looking forward, never back. What an alien concept.

Something rotten and cynical inside of Caleb wondered if the only reason Molly could hold on to the ideology was because he didn't remember his past. Could he still spout optimistic platitudes over drinks if he knew the truth? About the cults and blood magic and whatever unholy endeavors Lucien undertook?

Would his ideology even hold if he knew about what Caleb had done? He imagined telling him. All the wretched, gory details. He'd probably react like Nott and Beau. Wide-eyed and slacked jawed with worried looks exchanged when they thought he wasn't looking.

He could…he could find out. This timeline wasn't real. Everything here was fleeting. Impermanent. Like words in the sand at low tide.

Filled with alcohol and morbid, detached curiosity, Caleb twisted and looked to Jester. He let a one-word incantation drip off his lips.

Jester groaned in her sleep, and twisted again, putting her back to them.

"What was that?" Molly asked, straightening.

"Deafness."

"Deafness," Molly repeated. "Um, okay, interesting call."

"Will you…listen to a story, Mollymauk Tealeaf?" Caleb asked, returning to his work bandaging Molly's hand.

"I—usually like stories. Sure," Molly said. He looked Caleb over with mild confusion but didn't withdraw his hand.

Caleb took a deep breath, focusing on the bandages and not the weight of what he was about to say. "This…this is the story of how I murdered my mother and father."

Mollymauk froze, eyes wide. He took a moment to blink away the shock and watched Caleb's hand circle around his own. "Caleb," he said softly, "you know I, of all people, don't give a shit who you used to be. You don't need to—"

"I know." Caleb didn't look up. He finished wrapping Molly's pinky, "Will you listen anyway?"

"I—yeah. Yeah."

So Caleb, kneeling before Molly in the middle of a darkened ship, with head bowed and holding his hands in his, began his story.

The words flowed easier now than they had with Beau and Nott. He still stumbled over them, having to backtrack and set the order of events straight. He finished bandaging Molly's arm then moved on to the other. It didn't need to be changed so soon, but Caleb needed something to focus on, to keep his hands occupied, so Molly let him without protest.

He stayed quiet during Caleb's story. No comments or intrusive questions like Beau. No gasps or coos of sympathy like Nott. Just a slight nod or shake of the head now and then.

When it became clear Caleb would finish bandaging Molly's other arm before the end of the story, he slowed down. Winding and unwinding the cotton strip around Molly's forearm under the pretense of perfecting it. At last, he detailed the final leg of his story. Caleb bent down close to Molly's arm, tucking the end of the wrap away. He mentioned the false memories.

Molly let out a huff of hot air in surprise that tickled the hair on the back of his neck.

"And then I was on my own for a time. Then I met Nott. Then you. Now I'm here," Caleb concluded. He held on to Molly's arm for a moment, too nervous to meet his gaze, before he realized he no reason to be holding the limb anymore. Awkwardly, he dropped his hand and scooted backward. The sudden absence of Molly's body heat sent chills down his back and shoulders. He reached for his chest, trying to curl his fingers around the cool metal talisman to center himself, but it was on the neck of the person sitting across from him.

"Are you alright?" Molly asked.

Caleb laughed, shaking his head and letting his dirty hair flop into his eyes. "Hardly."

"No—not, not about what we just talked about. Like physically. You keep grabbing at your chest and I just want to make sure you're not having a stroke on me," Molly said.

Caleb risked a glance up through his tangled hair to find Molly watching him with concern.

"Not a stroke," Caleb said quickly. "I, um, an old friend, a previous traveling companion, gave me a necklace that I wore for a long time. But I lost it. In Shady Creek."

"Good friend?" Molly asked.

Caleb smiled to himself. "Yeah."

A silence fell between them that was equal parts comfortable and uneasy. Like a favorite song played by a different singer. Caleb pulled his knees up, resting his arms on them and staring at the wood grain of the floor, while Molly leaned back watching the ceiling.

"You realize this doesn't change my opinion of you, right Caleb?" Molly said at last.

"It should."

"It doesn't."

"Mm."

"Caleb, Caleb look at me," Molly insisted.

After a moment of hesitation, Caleb glanced upwards to meet his gaze.

"I've only known you for a month or so," Molly began slowly, "but I can tell you now you're not that person anymore."

Caleb clenched his jaw, shaking his head as he ran his hands through his hair. "Doesn't matter. My actions, the consequences, remain."

Then it was Molly's turn to frown. He stared at his hands, looking at the bandages while chewing that last sentiment around in my mouth as if it were rotten. "All we can do is move forward," he said at last, barely audible.

Caleb laughed at that. Actually laughed. Rough and raw from a night of drinking and tension. _Most_ people could only move forward. Caleb wasn't most people.

Molly looked up, startled and confused by Caleb's laughter before his expression soured further.

"Well," Caleb said, pushing himself off the ground. "I think that's it for me tonight. Goodnight, Mollymauk."

Molly just stared frowning at his hands.

Caleb stuck a hand into his pocket, feeling out his transmuter's stone and directing a spark of magic into it. The shadows receded around him, and he could see enough now to navigate his way back to the crew's quarters. He stepped towards the exit, running a hand along the crates lining the way.

He should've guessed Mollymauk's reaction. It made sense.

Something cold and sick coiled around Caleb's guts as he realized he wanted the man to react poorly instead. For someone else to finally realize how wretched and repulsive he truly was. To receive that twisted validation he craved as a husk of a human being.

"Caleb," called a voice.

He paused in the hall, twisting back to see Molly watching him.

"Thank you. For this," he said, raising his bandaged hands.

"Yeah, yeah, anytime," Caleb mumbled before shambling into the dark.

Molly pressed his head back against the wood, closing his eyes with a frustrated sigh.

Wrapped around the barrel, Nott cracked open an eyelid, watching the space where Caleb had vanished long after he was gone.

…

 _Caduceus, in his graveyard outside of Shady Creek Run, bags packed with a suitcase in either hand, waiting in front of his door: Alright. They'll come anytime now. I'm sure of it. Anytime now._

 _Commenters are the stars in my sky, the air in my lungs, the Jester in my live stream canonically confirming Molly has the best dick she's ever seen._


	7. The Boat Bottom Book Club

**Chapter Seven:**

 **The Boat Bottom Book Club**

…

Caleb spent his entire watch shift that night leaning over the edge of the boat, peering into the darkness. Heavy thoughts churned inside him in a cocktail of alcohol and regrets. A thick yoke of humidity weighed down on his shoulders, draining him of the will to swat the mosquitoes away.

Staring into the murky dark he thought about the man sleeping a deck below his feet.

Their circumstances ran parallel, but they split so far at their respective conclusions.

What would it be like if they swapped places? Swapped lives?

He couldn't say if Molly would burn his childhood home down, but the man wouldn't spend the rest of his life trying to bend reality on the off chance he could fix it.

And if Caleb clawed his way out of a grave? Well, he certainly wouldn't join the circus.

Caleb beat his fingers against the wooden railing to drown out the roar of the toads.

No, if he crawled out of a grave, he would've gotten himself killed within a week searching for answers.

He shouldn't have told Molly.

In hindsight, the timing was terrible.

He'd meant to be comforting, but it probably seemed like he took out a measuring stick to compare their pain.

'Sorry, Molly, I know you have it bad, but this was what _I_ had to endure. '

Brilliantly done, Caleb. Turned misery in competition. Another in a long line of social blunders without an end in sight.

As the sliver of moon hit its zenith, a crew member relieved him of watch, and Caleb retreated into the depths of the barge, mind still whirling.

Molly was resilient and probably one of the more emotionally stable of the group. He'd be fine.

Right?

The reoccurring encounters with Lucien's cronies rattled the man, and Caleb wasn't sure how to assuage those fears.

'Sorry your past keeps coming back to haunt you. Have you tried going back in time to change that?'

Caleb huffed a frustrated sigh and pulled himself into his hammock.

Reassuring Molly was a task that better suited Yasha, or Jester, or Fjord even. Even Beau and Nott would have more success.

It'd probably better to let someone else handle the Molly situation, but he just couldn't shake the weight of guilt that nagged at the back of his mind and soured his stomach after having made the situation worse. He should at least try and do something. Anything.

Caleb rolled the problem around in his mind like a lozenge—working on it, dwelling on it. How would one properly console Mollymauk Tealeaf?

Sleep crept upon him, and the logic to his thoughts unraveled. Still, a particular shade of lavender lingered in his mind long after unconsciousness stole him from the waking world.

…

Clear skies cut through yesterday evening's humidity, and the breeze carried the stinging edge of fall. The chill sought out and lingered in Caleb's fingers and nose—making him sniffle. Black conifers replaced the tangle of banyan trees and dotted the sloping hills surrounding them. The lazy rolling hills pushed against the river banks and cast cool shadows over the dark water.

It was starting to look like home.

What used to be home.

Caleb crossed his arms, warming his hands in his coat. He leaned back, sitting against the railing as he watched the crew perform their daily dance before him. Everyone performed in their understood role, and the few words exchanged between them were in a slang beyond his comprehension. It was beautifully coordinated. Mechanically efficient.

In the middle of deciphering their unsaid tasks, the sound of claws clicking against hollow wood drew his attention.

"Good morning," Caleb said, glancing up at Nott.

"Morning," she said, breaking off into a yawn that flashed rows of jagged teeth. Her sleep-mussed hair hung in strands before her eyes, and her clothes wrinkled at the joints.

"I shouldn't have left you asleep on the barrel. I'm sorry," he said, swallowing another pang of guilt.

Nott shrugged. "I've slept in much worse places. So have you," she added.

"That doesn't change anything."

Nott frowned, and for a moment they stood in silence, watching the crew scurry across the deck like beetles. "So Beau and Fjord are still below deck, huh?" she finally asked.

Caleb couldn't stop the smile from flickering across his face. "Not everyone can hold their liquor like you, my friend."

She puffed up at that before pausing as a thought occurred to her. "How are you feeling this morning, Caleb?" she asked and stepped in front of him to force him to meet her owlish gaze.

"Just a headache is all," he said. He reached out, brushing the hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ears, letting his coarse palm ghost over her cheek. "I'm fine."

Nott watched his hand as he withdrew it before her eyes flicked back up to meet his gaze. "What did you do after I fell asleep? Did you guys talk about anything interesting?" she asked, never blinking.

"I..." Caleb paused. Should he tell her? It was a private exchange, but it might help assuage some of her recent suspicions. "I told Mollymauk what I told you and Beauregard."

Nott cocked her head, ears twitching as her pupils roamed his face. "You trust him, then?"

Caleb frowned at the thought. Did he? He trusted that Molly was a good man. He trusted Molly on the battlefield. He trusted that Molly wouldn't share that terrible knowledge or use it against him.

"I do, yeah. I trust him," he said, brow furrowing in his own surprise.

Nott went silent for a moment, nodding slowly as she mulled over her own thoughts. "I'm proud of you," she said at last.

The words made Caleb swallow hard.

"I know it can't be easy for you—to keep talking about it—but I'm proud of you. You remember what I told you after you told me, right?"

"Yeah." Even though it happened sixteen years ago for him, he could still hear her radical words burned into his memory, ringing with a fiery and dangerous forgiveness.

"I still believe that, Caleb."

"I know."

"And I think the more people you let in, the more people are going to believe in you too."

What a terrifying thought.

Again, his mind refused to provide him with the words to respond, and another silence passed between them. They watched the lazy clouds float past, tugging their fat shadows across the deck. In time Nott withdrew her alchemy supplies and began to tinker. Her various bottles and flasks glinted in the mid-morning light.

Caleb settled for watching the scenery slip by, rolling his transmuter's stone between his palms, lost in thought.

Sometime later Elijah stumbled up the stairs, looking appropriately haggard with dark circles beneath his eyes. He cast a nervous glance around the deck before hurrying to his post.

Nott's stomach growled. She glowered at it before returning her attention back to the flasks of amber liquid in either hand. With a skilled flick of her wrist, she let three drops fall from the first beaker into the second. Steam hissed off the concoction.

"Perhaps it's time for lunch then," he said.

Nott bit her lip, looking from her flasks to her stomach and back to her flasks. Her brow crunched as she weighed her options.

"You know what, I will go get us food," Caleb said and Nott visibly relaxed. "I'll be right back."

"Okay, I'll be here," she said, already refocused on her alchemy.

In time Caleb found his way back to the makeshift kitchen, pocketing an apple for himself and a handful of dried mystery meat for them to share. He poked his head into the crew quarters on his way back to find Beau and Fjord still collapsed in their hammocks.

"Caleb?" Fjord asked, blinking at him with weary eyes. "What time is it?"

"Noon," Caleb answered with a little grin.

"Mmm, shut up," Beau moaned, turning over and swinging a muscled arm over her face to block out the filtering light.

Wincing, Fjord swung his legs out of bed. He put his weight on them for a moment, swaying dangerously. "Nope nope, that's not gonna happen," he managed before crumpling backward into the hammock.

Sighing, but unable to stifle his grin, Caleb stepped forward. He handed the apple to Fjord, who took it readily.

"Appreciate it," he said, before taking a massive bite.

Caleb stepped to Beau, who still had her arm slung over her eyes. He withdrew some of the jerky and waved it in front of her nose. "Beauregard. Meat."

She lifted her arm enough to crack open an eye and snatch the meat from his hand. After stuffing it inside her mouth, she mumbled something that sounded like "thanks" amidst the chewing.

"How's everyone else this morning?" Fjord asked after he'd stripped the apple to its core.

"Afternoon," Caleb corrected before continuing, "Well, Nott is up on the deck and…I haven't actually seen the others," he said. Maybe he should check on that and find out where Yasha disappeared to. Hopefully she hadn't left the boat without telling anyone, but that behavior certainly wasn't beyond her.

"We'll be up in a minute," Fjord said, "Isn't that right, Beau?"

Beau groaned and rolled onto her stomach.

"Alright, shout if you need anything," Caleb said and walked back towards the cargo hold.

What if Yasha had left? This upcoming mission seemed dangerous, and the idea of charging in without her extra brawn didn't sit well with him. Bad things happened when they separated.

Those squirming anxieties lifted as he rounded the corner to the sick bay to see Yasha sitting next to Molly, back braced against the boat's side, with her eyes shut. Molly had an arm slung around her wide shoulders, massaging lazy circles in her upper arm with his thumb. He still reclined back in his pallet with his injured ankle stretched before him. Jester napped on her pallet with Frumpkin curled up on her stomach.

He could still smell the traces of spiced wine lingering on the wood.

Molly glanced upwards as Caleb stepped in and shot the man a quick smile before looking to Yasha. He nudged her with his elbow and she started awake, looking around with wide panicked eyes.

"You're fine, you're here," Molly murmured, voice barely carrying to Caleb over the creaking boat and sound of footsteps above.

Yasha took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders, looking from Molly to Caleb.

"Have you been here since your watch shift ended?" Caleb asked. Even beneath her dark smeared makeup he could see the puffy bags beneath her eyes.

Yasha nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Somebody needed to—"

"I keep telling her we're fine by ourselves," Molly said to Caleb with a helpless grin. "It's not like either of us plan on going anywhere," he finished, directing a pointed frown at Yasha.

"Something could happen," she insisted, "You or Jester could get worse."

Molly opened his mouth to protest further, but Caleb cut in. "You know, Fjord and Beau are finally awake, and so are Nott and myself. I can take the first shift down here if you want." So much for trying to give Molly a little space.

"Finally, a reasonable suggestion. Thank you, Caleb," Molly said, looking back to Yasha, eyebrows raised in question.

Yasha frowned and then sighed. She reached a heavy arm behind her and used the wall to help pull herself up then stretched the sleep out from her limbs.

"Oh, can you take this to Nott?" Caleb asked and dropped the last of the pocket jerky in her hand.

Yasha nodded, and after a few more assurances unpeeled herself from Molly's side and vanished into the cargo hold.

"Thank you for that," Molly said. "I'm afraid this whole situation has turned her into a bit of a mother hen these days."

Caleb shrugged and bent down to pick up some of Jester's items that yesterday evening's festivities scattered across the floor.

Caleb knew Yasha. Probably better than Molly did at this point. He knew of the thick jagged scar Molly's death left on her that both future pleasures and pains couldn't erase or overwrite. Caleb had been intimate with grief for his whole life. It was like a phantom limb. An omnipresent ache defined by absence. It bound them together in their darkest days. In this timeline, without that choking thread to bind them, would he and Yasha ever grow so close?

What was he thinking? It was irrelevant. He wouldn't, shouldn't, be in this timeline long enough to find the answer.

"She cares for you," Caleb said at last.

Molly hummed in agreement. "The circus does that to you."

Caleb finished cleaning in silence until the only the empty wine barrel sat in the middle of the space. He bent down, wrapping his arms around it, and then threw his back into it. With a loud groan, he pulled it off the ground.

"Hey, Caleb, wait, I can—" Molly started, and tried to push himself up.

"I've got it," Caleb wheezed, stumbling backward under the weight of the barrel.

The moment Molly tried to put weight on his injured ankle, he winced and fell back just as Caleb slammed the barrel down on top of a nearby crate.

Molly plopped back down on his pallet and leaned forward to massage his ankle. "Maybe we wait for Yasha next time?" he suggested.

"Yeah," Caleb said, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Caleb?" asked a sleepy voice from behind, followed by a large yawn. "What was that? What's going on?"

"Our wizard was just in the middle of throwing out his back," Molly said, and Caleb heard the smile in his voice, but before he could turn around the nearest crate caught his attention.

"What happened last night?" Jester asked. "Did I miss anything fun?"

"Just the usual drunken shenanigans," Molly said.

He heard Jester pout but stepped forward to run a hand along the crate's edge. Bright, fresh dents marred the wood. The lid had been resecured with several bent nails. He tried to worm his fingers in the gap between but couldn't get enough leverage.

Caleb frowned then cracked his neck.

"Something wrong?" Molly asked.

"We shall soon find out. Cover your ears," he said, giving the two tieflings a quick glance over his shoulder. As soon as they obeyed, Caleb turned to the crate, letting his magic bubble up and holding it in the center of his chest.

" _Open_."

A loud knock echoed through the boat and the lid popped off.

"Caleb that was really cool!" Jester said, removing her hand from her ears. "Can you maybe do it without the sound though next time?"

"Not without having to cast an additional spell," he said, eyes trained on the entrance to the alcove. He stood still, listening for footsteps. After a moment passed and no one came, Caleb sunk to his knees and plunged his arms shoulder-deep into the crate full of bruised apples.

"Maybe he was just really hungry?" Jester whispered to Molly.

"You know I bet that was it," Molly whispered back, holding back a chuckle.

Caleb's fingers found the edge of the bottom, working their way under the wood to find purchase. With effort, Caleb managed to pry up the false bottom, pulling it through the layers of fruit and setting it down by his knees. He dug his hands in again, feeling out for his prize. The tips of his fingers brushed something leather. Something rectangular.

With an excited smile pulling at his lips, Caleb worked his prize free, holding a worn, black leather book aloft.

Molly started to clap slowly. "Incredible. Simply incredible."

Jester gasped. "Caleb, how did you know that was there? Was it magic? Do you have magic that can find you books?"

"It's gotta be some sort of sixth sense at this point," Molly said.

Caleb rolled his eyes. "I noticed there was a false bottom yesterday," he said as he dug his hand in again. After a thorough search, Caleb found five books in total and spread them out before him so the tieflings could see.

"What are they, what are they? Let me see, Calebbb," Jester said, bouncing up and down on her pallet.

Frumpkin gave a low, irritated 'mrrowow' and picked himself up, stretching and arching his back before retreating to safer pastures—Molly's lap.

"Give me a moment," Caleb mumbled, picking the books up one by one. "This one," he said, showing them a small, green tome tied shut with twine— the only one with a title in Common— "Says it's about Chauntea—who is an agriculture goddess."

Of course it would be Chauntea.

"Not an approved goddess, I'd wager," Molly said, giving Frumpkin absent scritches behind his ears.

Caleb nodded and put the book down. The second, an amber book with curling vines embossed on the cover, was titled in Sylvan. Caleb flipped through it, trying to blow the mental cobwebs off and decipher the elusive, curling script. Illustrations of elongated figures with pointed features and teasing grins decorated the pages. "This one, I think, is mostly about the fey and their pantheon," he said.

"I'm sensing a theme here," Molly said.

The final three, two thin brown volumes and the thick black one, were all illustrationless and filled with a cramped, angry script Caleb couldn't read, but he did recognize.

Xhorhasian.

He could seek out Yasha for help deciphering them, but she was likely sleeping by now. After a moment of deliberation, Caleb reached into his component pouch and withdrew a pinch of soot and a pinch of salt, letting them mix in between his fingers. He murmured the incantation and drew the correct sigil in the air. Cool magic washed over his head, soaking into his eyes and lungs. The foreign words peeled off the pages, rearranging themselves into more familiar symbols.

"Okay," said Caleb, picking up the two brown ones, "These ones are in Xhorhasian. This first one is…records. About weather patterns and the effect on farming."

"All of these sound really boring," Jester said with a frown.

Caleb ignored her and continued to the next, "This one is a bunch of lists. Oh, it's a recipe book," he said as realization dawned. A Xhorhasian cookbook. Imagine that. Half the recipes he saw involved rats—maybe Yasha would want to have a look?

Finally, he turned his attention to the last book. A single word marked the plain black cover, but the letters hovered above the page, bumping into each other and tangling together in a shifting mass. Caleb narrowed his eyes, leaning in close.

"Something wrong?" Molly asked.

"My spell is having a hard time translating the title," he admitted, chewing his lip.

"Maybe there's no good translation for it?" Jester offered. "Infernal has a lot of words like that, I think. Like, there's a different word for pain depending on where on the body the pain comes from, did you know that?"

"I didn't," Caleb mumbled, flipping through the book now. Several more words hidden amidst the pages existed in the same jumbled blur, but an overwhelming majority translated well. "It's a story. Fiction, I think," he said, surprised to find himself equal parts happy and disappointed at the revelation. After the magical censorship, he'd hoped for something useful, or at least informative.

"Oooh, is it another romance?" Jester asked, eyes hungry and sparkling.

Caleb carded through the pages, and upon finding no erotica or romance at all, shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Well, what's it about then?" Jester asked.

Caleb sighed and gathered the books. He stood, walked over, and handed two to Jester and two to Molly before plopping himself down between them. He cracked the black book open in his lap. "Give me an hour and I can tell you what it's about." And with that, he settled down to read.

 _'_ _A long time ago, there was a small farming village in the valley of the Ash Mountains. In—'_

"Hey, Molly look at this," Jester said, holding the fey book up to showcase a full-page illustration.

 _'_ _In a house near the edge of the village lived a husband and wife. The wife—'_

"How do you think she keeps her clothes on?" Molly asked, cocking his head and rubbing his chin.

 _'_ _The wife once belonged to a powerful noble family, but—'_

"I don't know. Magic probably," Jester said. "I wonder if I can learn that. Hey, Caleb, can you—"

"No."

"Oh…Have you ever tried?"

"No."

"Oh."

 _'_ _The wife once belonged to a powerful noble family, but when her husband, a common foot solider—'_

"Hey, Caleb," Molly called.

Caleb swallowed hard, dragging his eyes off the page to meet Molly's. "Yes?"

"If you're going to mumble like that you might as well read it aloud for us," he said, smiling just enough that the tips of his pointed teeth ghosted over his bottom lip.

He paused, blinking at that. "I—really? I mean, I can, but…"

"Do it, do it, do it," Jester chanted, letting the fey book fall to her lap.

"I don't think it's going to be a very good book," Caleb warned.

"Oh, bad books are the only kind I'm interested in," Molly said, shooting Jester a cheeky grin.

"Come on, Caleb. Pleaseee. Were so sick," Jester said and faked a cough.

"Don't forget bored out of our minds," Molly added.

"Yeah yeah yeah yeah," Jester said, nodding rapidly. "That too."

Caleb fought down a smile. "You two are incorrigible."

"Where's the fun in being anything else?" Molly asked, grin widening.

"Okay, but this spell only lasts for an hour," Caleb said, relenting. "No more after that, understand?"

After extracting solemn nods from both of his patients, Caleb started to read from the top. Much like _'The Courting of the Crick'_ , the first chapter dwelled far too long on genealogy, reviewing the imagined lineage of the main family back for six generations. Caleb wondered if any of the lofty names thrown around would mean anything to a Xhorhasian reader. Something else to ask Yasha, he supposed.

The extended talk of bloodlines and old power structures in time lulled Jester back to sleep. Mollymauk, to his credit, fought off the drowsiness by petting Frumpkin. He let his sleepy, half-lidded gaze drift to Caleb with a warm smile that Caleb could see out of his periphery.

He fought back the urge to fidget under the weight of Molly's gaze, feeling a tingle of embarrassment prickle at his neck.

"And so, during the fall after a prosperous summer, Aun and Tarin were blessed with a pair of twin girls—Phyrna and Phaerna," Caleb read. "Lots of names in this one, huh?" he said with a nervous chuckle.

"Hmm?" Molly asked, raising his eyebrows but maintaining that soft smile. "What was that?"

Caleb looked straight down back at the page. "Nothing. Sorry. Anyways," Caleb cleared his throat and continued.

The book went on to mention how strong and healthy the twin girls were, and that the eventual thirdborn, a boy, instead had a sickly willowy constitution, and showed an aptitude for the arcane. Once it was clear the book would follow the budding wizard, Caleb's interests piqued and it became easier to drown out Molly's smiles with the literature. They dove further into the wizard's childhood, and just as his mother began to teach him cantrips the words blurred and scattered across the page like ash in the wind before settling back into Xhorhasian script.

Caleb scowled and dug his hands back into his component pouch, throwing the ash and salt back into the air. A light dust landed on Jester, and she sneezed herself awake.

"What happened? What did I miss?" she asked, wiping her nose on her handkerchief.

"There's a wizard who doesn't want to be a wizard. And he's got two sisters with swords," Molly informed her.

"That's it?" Jester asked with a frown.

"It is a little…verbose," Caleb conceded. "But he's learning cantrips now, Jester, and I think you'd like this." So he continued on, Jester chiming in now whenever a spell she recognized came up, the two of them occasionally breaking off and going on magical tangents while Molly watched, petting Frumpkin all the while.

Just as the main character dipped his toes in more advanced magic, a pair of heavy footsteps heralded a visitor. Caleb looked up from the book to find Fjord leaning in the entryway with a smile and an eyebrow raised. He held a bundle of food in his arms.

"Where'd you find those?" Fjord asked, nodding to the pile of books.

"Caleb found them in a box full of apples," Jester said.

Fjord's face crumpled in confusion and he looked to Caleb for confirmation.

"They're part of the cargo being smuggled to Ice Haven," Caleb said, "I was going to put them back before we got there."

"This isn't going to get up in trouble with the captain, is it?" Fjord asked, smiling falling. "We've already given her enough trouble as is."

"Don't be such a worrywart, Fjord," Jester said. "They're all really boring mostly anyways."

"I'm not saying you can't read them," Fjord said, directing his attention back to Caleb. "I'm just saying be careful about it, so we don't get ourselves thrown off and having to walk to Ice Haven."

"Yes. That I can do," Caleb said, nodding slowly.

"Alright, well, it's my turn on nursemaid duty," Fjord said, gesturing to the food he carried. "Figured you'd want a break."

Caleb blinked for a moment then shut the book. "I, uh, yeah. Thank you, Fjord."

"Nursemaid duty? Did you hear him say nursemaid duty?" Molly asked Jester with false indignation as Fjord helped Caleb off the ground.

His stomach growled, making Caleb keenly aware he hadn't actually eaten since breakfast despite his attempts, so he started for the hall.

"Caleb," Molly called.

Caleb paused, looking over his shoulder to meet his gaze. "Ya?"

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked, nodding with his head towards the stack of books.

Caleb rubbed his neck, "Um, yeah, sure. If you want."

Molly's lips widened in a blinding grin, tail flicking beside him. "I look forward to it."

Fjord and Jester shot each other looks, and Caleb spun around and strode off as he heard Jester break into giggles.

He wove through the crates, hands in his pockets, trying not to think about what any of _that_ was about.

…

 _Caleb, moping on the boat at night: How would one properly console Mollymauk Tealeaf?_

 _Me, reclining on a beach chair a yard away, wearing sunglasses at night, and taking a long swig of a strawberry watermelon smoothie: Tenderly. Romantically. Lovingly even._

 _Commenters are my green lights on my commute to work, my favorite song playing when I turn on the radio, my 50% off Papa John's coupon._


	8. Uncomfortable Parallels

**Chapter Eight:**

 **Uncomfortable Parallels**

If y'all wanna yell at me about this or CR my art tumblr is introspectres

 _…_

The next day passed in an autumn haze. The crisp wind burrowed through the cracks of the barge and chilled Caleb's fingers and toes, trapping him below deck while twiddling his thumbs in the crew's quarters to escape the brunt of the cold. When a sleepy Beau informed him needed to take the evening nurse shift, he jumped up a bit too eagerly.

He wove through the well-tread path to the alcove and rounded the corner to find Nott sitting with the tieflings, an array of colorful playing cards spread out between the three. The dredges of last night's candles in their fogged lanterns flickered around the edges of the alcove, casting a warm glow that fought the dropping temperature. Frumpkin reclined in Molly's lap, fat pooling around him as if he was made of liquid, and he blinked lazily at Caleb.

"Jester," Nott said. "Do you have any twos?"

"Go fish!" she said with a cheeky grin that caused a dotting of breakfast crumbs to tumble off her face.

"Morning, Caleb," Molly called over Nott with a grin. He held up his handful of cards then nodded to Jester and Nott, who were down to two and three cards respectively. "I think I'm being swindled."

Nott turned to address Caleb. "He started cheating first."

"I don't doubt it," Caleb said and stepped over Nott's scattered piles of cards as Jester drew another hand from the deck. He settled himself against the wall between Molly and Jester, completing the half-circle they'd already formed.

"Nott, do you have any…aces?" Jester asked, wiggling her eyebrows with an widening grin. Her tail flicked in anticipation.

Nott scowled. "No."

"Are you sureee?" Jester asked.

"Yup," Nott said.

Molly leaned over to see her cards, distracting Nott long enough for Jester to snatch two of Nott's cards out of her hands.

"Hey," Nott said, grabbing for her cards, but Jester held them out of reach and flashed her now full suite of aces for all to see.

To the chagrin of her fellow players, Jester ended the game on her round, taking Nott's final card then methodically, painfully, every one of Molly's.

"That was fun," Jester said as she counted out the stacks around her.

"I think I can conclusively say I'm more of a Three-Dragon Ante person," Molly said and offered his measly stack of cards back to the reforming deck.

Nott hummed in agreement, still frowning at her piles compared to Jester's.

Caleb reached into his component pouch, withdrawing more soot and salt, but this time he sprinkled it on the ground before him. It caught in the worn grooves of the wood but still allowed him to draw a sigil with his index finger.

"That's different than last time," Molly noted.

Caleb nodded. "It takes less energy if I cast it this way. You guys may want to start another game though," he said.

"And let Jester stack the deck again?" Molly asked.

"I'm just really really good at remembering what people ask for," Jester said, batting her eyelashes innocently.

So, without much further protest, the three biggest cheats in the Mighty Nein started their next game. Molly let his cards dance through his fingers, teasing Nott with the opportunity to see their faces. Nott held her cards close to her chest, and Caleb swore at one point he saw her pulling the second card from the deck instead of the top. Jester, to her credit, played more casually, only taking a slight lead this time.

Until a handful of cards fell out of her sleeve.

Nott dove for them and Molly threw his cards up in surrender, ending the game.

"Sorry, I really don't know where those came from," Jester said, only able to keep the façade of sincerity for a moment before a smile split her face.

"Weird how those things happen, isn't it?" Molly asked, matching her grin as the three started to clean up the cards a second time.

The sigil before Caleb simmered, subtle magic radiating off the brand like water about to boil. It shouldn't take much longer now.

"Nott, can you pass us those books?" Molly asked. "Caleb's going to read to us soon."

"He is?" Nott asked with wide eyes, looking to Caleb.

Caleb's eyes dropped to the floor. "Um, ya, that was the plan. Unless you guys would rather—"

"Speaking personally," Molly interjected, "I can only lose so many card games in one day and welcome the change of pace."

"The book is a little boring," Jester said to Nott, "There's no romance," she explained solemnly. "But the magic is kind of interesting, I guess?"

Caleb gave Nott a rundown of the story thus far before Jester could butcher its nuance.

Beside them, Molly unwound his bandages and revealed the inflamed, scorched flesh beneath. It looked painful but considerably better than it had two days ago. Molly flexed his fingers experimentally and rotated his hands to inspect them.

Caleb held back a sigh of relief upon seeing how quickly the burns were healing. The was good.

The sigil on the ground sparked to life, sending that familiar, cool wave of magic washing over Caleb. Looking around to find he held the attention of all three listeners, he flipped open the book to where they'd left off.

"So the young wizard, Faust, spent the afternoon practicing the spell he learned," Caleb began. The story went on, spending too much time on the mundane actives of Faust's daily life with only a glimmer of the magic theory Caleb enjoyed. Jester broke out her sketchbook and doodled pictures of the four of them sitting there while Nott fiddled with the playing cards.

In time, Molly too took up a secondary activity. He pulled his crumpled coat out from behind his back and spread it out before him to again survey the damage. Frumpkin meowed in irritation and hopped off his lap. He passed Caleb without a glance and settled back down on Jester's legs.

"You know when I get better I can try and use Mend on that," Jester said quietly.

Caleb paused reading.

"I appreciate it, but I think I have a plan," Molly said. "If it doesn't work I'll take you up on that though."

Satisfied, Jester went back to drawing, and Caleb continued to read.

Molly's plan involved withdrawing the burnt sash along with a small, nondescript box from his pile of things stacked around his pallet. He flicked open the box with his thumb and withdrew a slender needle and a spool of thread. Preparing to thread the needle, he popped the end of the thread in his mouth and ran it across his lips. He met Caleb's gaze with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.

It was at that point Caleb realized he'd stopped reading a while ago.

He averted his gaze, trying to fight down the burning embarrassment from being caught staring, and began to read again. While Faust continued to practice his magic and go on with his unremarkable childhood, Caleb watched Molly in his periphery patch the burned holes in his coat with the unburned sections of the peach shawl, stitching them together in a repetitive, looping motion.

Faust's childhood plodded along at a snail's pace until his father died in a hunting accident.

"Yikes," Molly mumbled.

"Aw, I liked him," Jester said with a sigh.

"It seems a little out of the blue, ya?" Caleb said, frowning at the text. The jarring tone shift sent him off-kilter, and as Caleb continued reading, describing Faust's initial shock, denial, and then the heavy oppressive grief, an icy familiarity crept its way up his spine. Faust's two sisters recovered from the loss, but the grief changed Faust and his mother.

Caleb's hands paled and his palms went sweaty.

This was just a story.

Just fiction.

Faust's resulting depression from his father's death sprawled on through several more chapters that Caleb skimmed through, skipping entire paragraphs at times. Eventually, that depression turned to fear of his own mortality, so Faust dove back into his magical studies with a renewed fervor with the goal of finding a solution to his chilling existential dread.

"So he's doing all of this because he's scared of dying?" Molly asked, face screwing up in confusion at the very notion. "Besides, you said he was an elf right? He's still got, like, what, a thousand years on the rest of us anyway?"

"You could do a lot of things in a thousand years," Jester said thoughtfully. "Caleb, you could probably read all the books in all the libraries, you know?"

He shrugged. A thousand years probably wouldn't be enough for that, but it was possible.

"I think it might be kinda sad to be that old though," Jester continued, tapping her chin with her finger. "Everyone else is like a little kid to you at that point."

Caleb nodded at the insight. "I would imagine it would be frustrating at times."

"And sad," Nott said, fiddling with her flagon. "If all your friends don't live as long."

"Aww, I didn't even think of that," Jester said with a frown. "It must be awfully sad to be an elf."

"None of us get to pick our lot in life," Molly said.

"Just what we do with it," Caleb added quietly, and Molly hummed in agreement.

Caleb managed to read several more pages before the ritual ended and forced him to reup the spell.

Molly, Nott, and Jester rekindled a casual discussion sprinkled with yawning while Caleb mused on Faust's supposed goal. He probably desired immortality, and for a strong and ambitious enough wizard, several avenues existed in pursuit of that end.

The spell Caleb used to time travel might suffice. But that was old magic. Deep magic. Capricious and cruel with an alien intelligence about it bent on tormenting the user and inflicting twisted poetic justice. The more one demanded of it, the more that was demanded in return. It was why he'd broken his time jump into two pieces and sacrificed such a large amount of resources up front—to mitigate the price he paid after the transaction completed.

During his years of research, he hunted down a handful of tales of past users of that specific spell. Most faded into legends and folk tales, vastly overblown and unverifiable, but with a grain of truth still. One woman wished for immortality and was transformed into a mountain. One man wished for the death of his enemies, resulting in a flood that killed his loved ones as well. A third wizard, the elusive case Caleb based most of his own equations off of, attempted time travel and was successful, but was transported into the middle of the ocean with no means of returning.

The magic reminded him of the dodecahedron in a sense. Infinite and incomprehensibly powerful. Ancient power that tapped into some dizzying core facet of the universe mere mortals weren't built to endure.

But Caleb had, and he wasn't done yet.

As far as the immortality question went, besides Caleb's spell, some form of reincarnation perhaps? Or he'd heard rumors of some powerful magic users artificially creating younger bodies for themselves, but he couldn't vouch for the veracity of that either. Then maybe something darker, like vampirism?

Many wizards throughout history chased the same goal only to be killed by the price extracted by it.

It was a fool's errand.

But who was he to talk.

His ritual bubbled to completion, and Caleb read on. As the story progressed down its new path, his earlier anxiety faded in lieu of his own curiosity.

Faust, a young man now, ravenously sought out new magic, interacting with every adventurer who passed through the small farm town to increase his knowledge. The book went to great lengths to describe every wonderous traveler and during those long stretches of prose Jester drifted to sleep, sketchbook still open in her lap.

Nott scooted forward, lifting the book out of her lap with grace and skill only she was capable off before setting herself between Caleb and Jester. She leaned into him and flipped through the sketchbook, occasionally drawing something funny or profane amidst Jester's scrawling hand.

Faust made it to his first extended leave from home before Nott joined Jester in sleep. Her gentle weight pressed against his side, and every light exhale sent a lock of her dark hair fluttering away from her face just to be pulled back in with her inhale.

"Don't move," Molly whispered to Caleb, who stopped reading in confusion a moment before Molly leaned over Caleb's lap to reach for the sketchbook.

Caleb's breath caught at the sudden invasion of personal space, and he held the black book close to his chest. Frumpkin cracked a tired amber eye at the two of them.

With light fingers, Molly plucked the book out of Nott's lap and withdrew back into his pallet.

"You too?" Caleb asked.

Molly shrugged. "What can I say? I'm an opportunist," he said, punctuating it with a toothy grin.

"Should I—?" Caleb asked, looking down at the book.

"Oh, please continue," Molly said with an open gesture before returning his attention to the sketchbook. Caleb did and Molly took his turn to customize Jester's sketchbook.

The night flowed on in a blur of chapters and the candles dripped lower. Caleb's voice filled the space, steadily dropping in volume to not wake their sleeping companions. The sound of Molly's pencil against Jester's sketchbook joined it, and occasionally he pitched in a comment of his own. In time again, the words blurred on the page and shifted back to Xhorhasian.

Caleb looked from the sleeping Jester and Nott to Molly. "Maybe that's all for tonight?"

Molly looked up at that and raised an eyebrow. "Really, but it was just getting interesting."

"You...enjoy this book?" Caleb asked. It was slow-paced even for his standards, so he could blame Jester or Nott for dozing off.

Molly tilted his head from side to side as he chewed on his answer. The jewelry strung from his horns clinked against his shoulders. "Well, it certainly helps pass the time, so yeah I suppose I am enjoying it. Plus you've got a nice reading voice, so…" he trailed off, rubbing the back off his neck.

"Oh, uh, yeah thanks," Caleb mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor. He traced the rune back into the salt, feeling each valley of the worn wood against his finger. "It's nice..." he said at last, "reading to people—reading with people, I mean. "

"You know…this doesn't have to be a onetime deal, Caleb," Molly said. "Whenever we're on the road we end up with a lot of downtime, and I'm sure the others wouldn't object."

Caleb let out a huff of laughter and ran a hand over the book's aged cover. "Oh, I'm sure they'd object to this book. Especially Beauregard. Too slow paced."

"Something more exciting then. I'm sure Ice Haven has multiple bookshops."

The serenity that notion brought washed through Caleb. He could imagine shopping the aisles with them again so clearly—Jester and Nott causing mischief, Beau feigning apathy but still finding something that interested her, Fjord ending up in the erotica section on accident and being trapped in conversation with an overeager patron. Then after, all of them circled around a fire between destinations, firing off wisecracks and the occasional poignant insight while they worked their way through a fantasy series they all liked more than they let on.

But he couldn't have that. Not in this life.

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind but not quickly enough to stop his heart from aching at the echoes of such soft domesticity.

The ritual finished, and Caleb continued on, lowering his voice further. His throat ached from overuse and his voice grew rougher as the evening progressed, but Caleb didn't mind. This was the least he could do for them.

As Faust returned from his excursion, Molly's head began to nod, and before the chapter's end his grip went slack, and his head lolled to the side. The pencil rolled across the page, coming to rest in the crease of the sketchbook. His jewelry caught the candlelight, reflecting little stars against the surrounding cargo and walls that drifted with his shallow breathing. Fading plum makeup framed his dark eyelashes, and even his sleeping expression managed to project a good-natured mischievousness.

This was how he was meant to be.

Not cold and still.

In his years of travel Caleb never encountered another person who wore living quite as well as Mollymauk Tealeaf. Life just suited him.

Caleb averted his eyes, realizing he'd been staring too long again. In his defense, Mollymauk was hard not to stare at—though Caleb was positive that was the intended effect.

He closed the book softly and placed it back on the stack, then with a hummed word and wave of his hands, doused the candles.

…

Caleb woke the next morning to find his voice nearly gone and the wind on the upper deck too biting to consider spending the day exposed to the elements. One by one the uninjured members of the Mighty Nein drifted to the alcove after exhausting any other attempts at entertaining themselves.

Caleb read through the fae book in silence and left the others to their own devices, which mostly included Jester teaching their friends new cards games then proceeding to cheat at them. This continued for a matter of hours until Jester introduced a game that involved slapping the back of others' hands and Beau went too overboard.

By noonday, his voice returned, and he found a handful of folktales scattered throughout the fae book and made the mistake of mentioning his surprise. The party spent the next ten minutes persuading him to read one or two aloud until he submitted to their demands.

He filled the rest of the day and the early evening with daring tricksters, mercurial fae, and a series of lessons learned. When the night drew to its natural conclusion, everyone retreated to bed save for Yasha and Caleb, who had the next deck watch.

He emerged onto the deck, pulling his heavy coat close to block out the wind, and realized with a start the land disappeared around them. An inky expanse of water surrounded them on all sides, reflecting the heaven full of stars above. Walking to the railing and holding his transmuter's stone close to increase his vision, he could just make out a strip of black on the horizon where the stars ended. A chill ran up his spine.

He knew this place. This was the lake, Erdeloch. Sometime today they'd sailed past Rexxentrum.

They'd passed his old home too, and he didn't even notice. How could he not have noticed?

The answer bubbled unbidden to the forefront of his mind: good stories and good friends.

That wasn't an excuse though. It couldn't be. His knuckles tightened on the rail, turning white as the bones beneath.

This was getting dangerous in a way he hadn't anticipated.

…

The next several days passed with Caleb trying to keep himself aloof but being drawn back in by the tieflings' constant demands for entertainment. All the while Nott stuck to his side like a loving, stubborn piece of lint. By the ninth day of the journey, the weather shifted from brisk to frigid, and heavy snow suffocated the jagged surrounding landscape.

Fjord was less than pleased.

Chunks of black ice bobbed in the river now with serrated edges threatening to saw them in two. Captain Whitney stationed a rotation of some of her magically-inclined crew members at the forefront of the boat, where they used cantrips to melt and push the bulk of the ice out of the way. Despite the crew's efforts, The Yohimbe still scraped against stray chunks of ice. It made a deafening, groaning sound that caused all of the barge's interior inhabitants pause and listen. Waiting to see if any of it breached the hull.

Along with the weather, Jester and Molly's condition decayed. Nurse shifts now demanded two people, one to stay with them and one to go off and fetch necessities.

Caleb and Nott entered the alcove laden with two additional down blankets, relieving Beau and Yasha of their shift. Yasha exited last, shooting one last worried look over her shoulder before vanishing back into the creaking boat.

Molly watched them enter, stroking Frumpkin in his lap. The gnarled burns along his arms had faded and the swelling around his ankle was barely noticeable. Despite the obvious improvements, Molly looked paler than before. He broke into a wet cough that sounded like his insides were grating together. Frumpkin yawned, preparing to move, but Caleb commanded him to stay on Molly. The familiar shot him a bored expression before shutting his eyes again.

"That sounds bad," Caleb murmured, stepped forward as Nott skittered past him to Jester.

Molly tried to shrug, but the action made him cringe in pain. "I've felt better," he admitted, the looked to Jester with eyebrows knitted together in concern. "But she's the one we should be worried about."

Jester reclined in an uneasy sleep. Her blue skin was flushed dark, sweat beaded on her forehead and heat radiated from her in palpable waves.

Nott set her blanket down and pulled it over Jester, who awoke with a moan and blinked the sleep out of her eyes.

"What time is it? Are we there yet?" she asked, voice rough from more than sleep.

"Not yet," Caleb said, stepping forward to hand the other blanket to Molly. He shook his head, nodding to Jester. "Hopefully soon," Caleb continued as he gave the blanket to her. "Depends on the ice."

Nott and Caleb continued to settle in, making sure everyone still had water and refreshing Jester's cold compress. Only a sliver of the black book remained, and Caleb hoped that would last them for the final leg of the journey. He drew his ritual on the floor and concentrated on it, trying not to think about what could happen if the ice trapped them in.

While he performed his ceremony, Jester drifted off again. Her lungs wheezed with every shallow breath, making Caleb wish he had dabbled in healing magic.

Molly withdrew his coat to continue his earlier work. He successfully attached the patches to the shoulders, but Caleb realized with surprise he wasn't done yet. During the time since Caleb last saw the coat, Molly had sewn a speckling of little stars and triangles into the peach fabric.

He watched the needle weave in and out of the fabric in patterns he couldn't understand, leaving a trail of teal shapes behind it. Caleb took a moment to regard the rest of the coat's sprawling embroidery with a newfound respect. He'd always just assumed Molly conned it off some poor sap. Or stole it. How many hours had he poured into that coat over the years?

"You're not upset at having to redo all that work?" Caleb asked, taking a pointed look at the now-blank shoulders of the garment.

"Why? It's just a coat," he said, cocking his head in confusion.

"But that must've taken hours," Caleb insisted.

"Oh for sure it did," Molly conceded, "But I always knew stuff like this would happen. Shit's inevitable. Besides, what's my other option? Not wear it? Better to get some use out of it. Plus I get to try out new things this go around," he said with a little grin.

Caleb shook his head. Of course, Molly wouldn't care. He had the miraculous ability to make the best of a situation in his own way. It was incredible. Caleb would've been envious of the trait if he didn't find it so admirable.

He watched Mollymauk continue his delicate work, threading the needle in and out with a quiet finesse Caleb hadn't seen him display off the battlefield.

Or maybe he had, and he just hadn't noticed until now.

The spell completed with a fizz, distracting Caleb from his thoughts. He took a deep breath to re-center himself on the task before him and opened the book.

Faust was a young man now, grown strong in the magical arts despite his humble upbringing. He took a dip into necromancy, though it did little to further his ultimate goal.

Besides them, Jester twisted in her sleep, unable to find comfort in any position. She didn't even wake when Faust started his short-lived affair with the local priest—they'd have to read that bit back to her once she felt better.

The book trailed on, and Caleb grew nervous about the amount of story they needed to cover in comparison with the measly three chapters remaining. This wasn't part of a series, was it? He fought the urge to skip ahead and plowed forward.

All at once a plague swept through Faust's village, bringing his fear of his own mortality to a fever pitch in a matter of days.

"Plagues are a nasty business," Molly said.

"They need to quarantine people off," Caleb murmured, but it was too late. None of the surrounding villages would offer aid or allow in refugees for fear of their own safety, so without healing or escape all the villagers could do was wait for their time, fueling Faust's frenzied quest.

One of Faust's sisters succumbed to the illness, dying in a matter of days, which shattered something in the man. He dug through the family tomes, hunting down the whispers of a dark ritual he'd tried to push out of his mind.

The book never named the ritual, nor did it specify what components Faust collected from the piles of bodies as part of his 'dark harvest'. The entire description of the ritual was filled with atypical vagueness for the book thus far.

Still, Caleb read faster as his mind began to race with a morbid, intellectual curiosity. His gut churned as he deduced what unholy end this was leading up to.

Then Faust killed the priest—taking the warm heart from his chest.

Molly and Nott expressed their disappointment quite vocally while Caleb realized maybe it was for the best Jester was asleep for the ending. She wouldn't have liked this bit.

After the dissent quieted, Caleb continued. There were only several pages left now, and a cold, heavy feeling weighed on his chest.

The scene of Faust performing the profane ritual was the vaguest of all: only a mere sentence or two and a brief mention of the family amulet. The book didn't specify the necklace's purpose, but Caleb knew regardless. There was only a page left now.

Upon completion, Faust transformed into something 'dark and evil' and dragged himself home, half-mad from the process. One paragraph left.

He opened the door, only to find his mother hovering over his remaining sister's body. Her blood leaked out from the gaping hole in her chest. Faust's mother, equally arcane and horrible, looked up, locking eyes with him.

Then the book ended.

"That was it?" Nott said, leaning over Caleb's arm to see for herself.

"Yeah, yeah…I guess that's how it ends," Caleb said, frowning at the text.

"You know," Molly said, resting his coat on his knee. "I change my mind. I don't think I liked that story."

"First it was boring and then it was bad," Nott said, nodding her head. "Sorry, Caleb. I can't hide my truth," she said, giving him a little pat on the knee.

"No, don't apologize to me," Caleb said, swallowing in vain to dislodge the unease that settled on him. "It changed into a tragedy pretty quickly at the end there."

His companions agreed and continued to complain about the last few chapters, but Caleb's thoughts drifted. Sure, the ending was executed poorly, but he should've seen it coming.

All powerful magic had a cost.

Before Caleb could ruminate further, Fjord stepped into the alcove, snow dusting his hair and shoulders. He surveyed the group with a relieved grin before nodding towards the upper deck.

"We're here"

…

 _Can you believe Molly's out there going at his coat without an embroidery hoop? The absolute madman._

 _As always, thank you for your lovely support in all its forms, including by not limited to: 420 kudos. Commenters are the sunrises outside of my windows in the morning, my clearance rack that still has clothing in my size, my nat 20s on attack rolls during boss fights._


	9. Ice Haven

**Chapter Nein:**

 **Ice Haven**

 _*danny devito voice* Can I offer you a chapter nein in this trying time?_

 _…_

Caleb stepped on to the upper deck and shielded his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. It burned low in the sky, partially obscured by the black jagged mountain that pierced its heart. Beside him, Nott gasped at the view.

The Yohimbe bobbed in a boiling lake. Thick hissing steam swirled off the bubbling surface, trapping the dying light in a thick golden fog. The shadows of other nearby boats slipped in and out of the haze like phantoms.

Crew members bustled around them, jumping off the deck to the dock below and shouting instructions at each other so thick in slang it might as well have been a foreign tongue. Dockhands circled the edge of the boat like vultures, tying the Yohimbe down with dense knots and trading comments with the deckhands that barely rose above the low roar of the city. By dusk the noise-level in most cities began to drop, but Ice Haven seemed to be just waking up.

The land before them rose upwards, and a dark city sprung from the mist. It loomed over them and trapped the last of the sunlight behind dense, spiked buildings. Ice Haven was built inside a massive crater, boiling lake at its epicenter. The higher the buildings sat on the slope, the more ornate they became. At the edge of the crater, jutting into the sky above all others, rose an imperial building with decorated spires and sharp, tiered roofs.

"Do you think that's it? Where she lives?" Nott breathed, bobbing her head towards the building.

Caleb gave a noncommittal hum that came out in a puff of hot air.

In the murky dusk, the assumed-palace cast a long shadow that stretched across the city, seeming to end right at their feet in a pointed spike. Caleb's stomach churned in unease.

Fjord stepped up onto the main deck followed by a sleepy Beau. The sight and the cold struck them dumb for a brief moment before Beau filled the frozen air with several choice expletives. She shoved her hands in her armpits and clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

A shivering Fjord came to stand next to Caleb and Nott, still blinking at the scene surrounding them. "Sure is somethin', huh?" he asked, running his hands through his hair as he tried to gather his bearings.

"We've been in bigger cities before," Caleb reminded both Fjord and his own uneasy gut. They had taken on greater challenges before and won. They'd held their own against a battalion of soldiers in the heart of Xhorhas for god's sake. His chest tightened as he thought of Jester. That day's victory had come at great cost. But no, this was different. No more dead tieflings. They'd find a healer soon. Things would be fine.

Another silence passed between the four as they tried to digest the sight before them.

Captain Whitney passed by, and noticing their awe, she paused. Crossing her tattooed biceps, she took a moment to regard the city with a bored, sweeping gaze before looking back to them. "Well, we made it," she said at last, "mostly in one piece. This is where my job ends. My crew's gotta haul some cargo to The Tipsy Seal, and you're welcome to join em', but after that I'm afraid you're on your own."

"Any tips or pointers you can give us? In regard to Ice Haven?" Fjord asked.

Whitney gave each of them an appraising look before speaking. "This city...has an undertow," she said, considering her words. "Watch your step. Even when everything seems safe. Because the minute—the second—you don't, that's when it'll pull you under. Got it?"

"Anything less metaphorical?" Beau asked with a frown.

Whitney shot her a scowl. The crew flowed around them, laden with heavy cargo towards unknown destinations and shouting instructions at each other. Caleb had to focus to hear what Whitney said next.

"There's a lot of good and a lot of bad in this city. You'll find the Gentleman's name doesn't carry as much weight as it does in Zadash. Be careful who you trust," she said before straightening. "And don't stand under the icicles," she added, a smirk flickering across her face.

"Any idea where the closest temple or place of healing is?" Fjord asked.

"I mean, in Ice Haven you're never more than a stone's throw away from one, but you probably won't find any staffed tonight," she said.

"Why's that?" Nott asked. "Are they on strike?"

Whitney scanned them with a look of confusion, trying to decipher if she was the butt of a joke. "It's the twenty-second," she said at last.

Oh.

Caleb sucked in a breath so cold it made his teeth ache before exhaling slowly. "Well, happy Civilization's Dawn, everyone."

Beau cursed and Fjord just shook his head. As if navigating a foreign city after sunset wasn't difficult enough, why not add a major holiday for an extra challenge?

Caleb sighed, rubbing his face with his frozen fingers. Trying to find a healer under the circumstances would likely be an exercise in futility. Why, oh why hadn't he figured out a way to press-gang Caduceus into their merry band this time around?

After a conversation cut short due to both the urgency of their circumstances and the biting chill, the Mighty Nein resolved to help their injured tieflings to The Tipsy Seal and seek medical attention from there.

While the party worked on gathering up Jester and Molly's things, Caleb took a moment to take the illegal books and stash them back inside the crate of apples. He buried the black book last, frowning at it as it was swallowed by fruit. Hopefully its new owner liked poorly-written tragedies.

Yasha elected to carry the semi-lucid Jester bridal style with the large haversack swung across her back while Fjord and Beau would help Molly hobble off the boat as best they could. Caleb let Frumpkin hop onto his shoulders, and Nott finished securing the last of her belongings to her person.

They met the crew members Whitney designated above board, who waited for them with arms loaded with crates. After a couple exchanged nods of acknowledgment, the crew led them towards the gangplank.

Their line of people disembarked the boat and was plunged into Ice Haven's narrow streets, thick with ruddy-faced strangers. They heard the signs of Civilization's Dawn before they saw them. Loud shouting and the crackling of bonfires clouded the air—Caleb might've thought the city was under attack if the din of drunken singing didn't constantly rise above the chaos. People of every species flooded the roads, too drunk to remember not to stare at their bizarre procession. Caleb and Nott watched them with wary eyes, and Nott's hand rested on her crossbow.

The further they walked from the boiling lake, the more aggressive the cold became. It ripped at every exposed inch of skin and sent a jab of pain through his nose that was so sharp it felt like he'd been punched. Clouds of incense-laden smoke filled the streets, left an acidic taste on his tongue, and dried out the back of his throat.

Molly's foot slipped on an icy step, and he teetered on the edge about to drag Fjord backward with him, but Beau pulled them forward. After grimacing through the pain, Molly managed to hiss out a 'thanks', but put less weight on his wounded ankle from then on.

Caleb fought back to urge to call up and ask the crew members how much further they had to go.

They passed a square full of dancing figures, distorted by the smoke and heat of the fire they danced around. The light of the flame stained the snow and ice around them a brutal crimson. Dizzying shadows played at the edges of their vision, casting malformed humanoid shapes across Ice Haven's odd, square geometry. Caleb spent the entire journey looking for ghouls in the winding alleys, only passively noting the mild improvement in the quality of the buildings as they progressed deeper into the heart of Ice Haven.

After a twenty-minute slog through the winding city, they rounded a corner to find The Tipsy Seal wedged between two nicer buildings. Its door hung open letting a stream of stumbling patrons in and out. A wooden sign announcing the name swayed in the wind—paint cracking off to reveal flecks of an older paint job beneath.

Their weary procession wove through the river of patrons and circled around back where a young tiefling, probably only seventeen or eighteen by Caleb's estimate, greeted them.

"Well, took you guys long enough," she said to the crew members. She dusted her hands off on her apron and planted them on her hips. Her clothes were worn at the joints and she reeked of wine, but her irisless eyes were bright and focused. A bandana held her hair back and two horns sprung from sloppily cut holes. They curved inwards at the tips, like candles melted under the sun.

Her gaze drifted past the deckhands to the Mighty Nein, and her eyes widened. "Oh," she gasped and padded forward to stand in the midst of them, taking the motley group in with wide eyes. "You must be the reinforcements. We've been waiting for you for days now, you must come with me," she said, grabbing Nott by the hand and pulling her forward before anyone could get a word out.

Caleb stayed close behind, stepping into the warm interior of the inn with the rest of the party on his heels. The heat and smell of cooked food washed over him like a balm, releasing a fraction of the tension he permanently stored in his shoulders.

"Valentine, delivery's here!" the tiefling girl called over the chaos of the narrow kitchen where two sweat-drenched chefs labored away over the stoves. She led the procession through the space, weaving through a maze of open crates and bulging sacks, and stepping over a pile of chicken bones on the way.

They broke free from the kitchen and emerged into the main belly of the inn, where red-nosed patrons swarmed at the bar and reclined in every available seat. The tiefling girl looked behind her shoulder at the Mighty Nein and called out something, but the sound of her voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. She nodded her head towards another nearby archway and tugged Nott along.

The opening led to a small room, half full of crates and barrels, with a table shoved off in the corner.

"Sorry, about that," she said now that she could be heard and finally released Nott's hand. "I figured you would be hungry after your journey. Come sit, please—oh," she paused, finally noticing the state of Jester and Mollymauk.

Nott jumped back to Caleb's side while Fjord slipped free of Molly's arm and stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Um, nice to meet you, we're the Mighty Nein. I believe you've been expecting up for a couple days, but right now we could really use some healing for our friends," he said, nodding back at them.

"Oh, yes, yes! Forgive me for asking, but just how badly injured are they?" she asked, peaking around Fjord's frame. "Because it might be tricky to find a healer tonight."

Fjord looked back at Jester and Molly then grimaced. "Well, sooner would definitely be better than later."

"We keep some herbs on hand that can help with fever or pain, so if you have any of those problems we might be able to make some tea and help a little?" she said, then glanced through the open door to the crowded tavern beyond. Her eyes flicked back to Fjord and her voice dropped into a more serious tone. "You can try and find a healer tonight, but the only way would be to search the streets, and it can be dangerous to explore Ice Haven at night if you aren't familiar with it."

Fjord sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Molly? Jester? What do you think?"

"Tea sounds nice," Jester said, words slurred from drowsiness.

"I can hold out for a couple more hours," Molly said.

"I'm really sorry," the tiefling girl said with an earnest frown puckering her lips, "We thought you were coming a couple days ago, so we aren't the best prepared for you tonight. I can send for a healer in the morning if you'd like?"

"Yeah, we'd appreciate that," Fjord said. "Thank you, uh…"

"Oh!" she blinked in surprise, then extended a hand. "Sorry, I'm Love—Love Saewen. My mother owns the inn," she said and nodded at the roaming crowd behind them. Caleb glanced backward but failed to spot anyone that quite matched Love's pink complexion or poof rosy hair in the horde.

After a brief round of introductions, the Mighty Nein settled around the table while Love provided first tea and then a passable dinner meal. As she turned around to let them dine in peace, Fjord called out to her.

"Sorry—before you go do you know if our…friend who was supposed to meet us is here?" he asked.

Love snuck a glance at the crowd again before stepping closer and perching on the edge of the table where she could speak more quietly.

"Yes, Lox is still here. They were getting worried you wouldn't show. I think they stepped out for the evening though," she said.

"I thought you said it was dangerous to wander Ice Haven at night," Caleb said, looking up from his soup.

Love shrugged. "It is. But Lox usually does that."

Caleb prodded at a mystery chunk floating in his soup. So the person they'd been sent to protect was either an idiot or very talented in escaping danger. By the way the Gentleman described Lox earlier, Caleb was inclined to think both.

Love excused herself to return to her work, leaving the Mighty Nein with their soup. Caleb polished his off quickly, and Nott beside him chugged all the broth in one go to the group's horror and amazement. It tasted earthy and warm, and Caleb didn't care that he couldn't identify half the ingredients—not after a week and a half of eating cold rations.

Molly worked at his soup more slowly, murmured quiet assurances to Yasha that he was alright. The sound of his rattling lungs signaled otherwise.

Jester barely managed a spoonful before she nodded off, slumping onto Fjord. This time it didn't seem to be a ploy.

"Hey, now, not yet," he said, nudging her awake.

She withdrew, blinking sleepily at him.

"You can go to bed soon, but you gotta eat some more," he said, pushing her bowl towards her.

She nodded and managed several more spoonfuls before her eyelids began to droop again.

Caleb stared at his empty bowl, feeling the worry in the room thicken. Dawn couldn't come soon enough.

They finished their meal, and after Beau flagged down Love, she showed them to their rooms upstairs. They were cramped but clean. A chill draft radiated from the cracks in the windowpane, and a layer of frost obscured the view, so Caleb could only see his own tired reflection in the firelight. A rug, worn through near the simmering hearth attempted to help insulate the frigid space. However, neither the rug nor the hearth gave him as much comfort as the stack of down blankets piled on the bed.

The other party members broke off to their rooms, and for a moment Caleb felt pulled to check on Jester and Molly, but he stopped himself. What could he do? Nothing. He couldn't even offer the entertainment of reading aloud anymore. They'd finished the book and packed all of them back in their crate.

Caleb collapsed in bed, Nott sunk down at his side, and Frumpkin settled between them. Caleb's joints throbbed, and the cold instilled a deep ache in his limbs even the soup hadn't shaken. Despite the anxieties wiggling at the edge of his consciousness, he felt his grip on reality start to fade. He absently noted Nott was murmuring something to him, but before he could put more thought into it sleep dragged him under and stole him away.

His dreams were filled with young wizards who went too far. Death, shadows, and reflections, men and monsters, liches, and stories without happy endings.

…

The bleached dawn spread across the sky and reflected off the ice, lighting the interior of the room and waking Caleb up far too early. The covers trapped their body heat, so only Caleb's face was exposed to the stinging morning air. It would be so easy to fall back asleep, but there was work to be done. He slipped out of bed and stoked the fire, pulling on his boots to help warm his toes.

After readying himself for the day in silence, he turned to the mound of blankets and set about unearthing Nott.

"What? What is it?" she asked, cracking an eyelid to watch Caleb with a sliver of gold iris while holding back a yawn.

"Good morning," he said.

"Five more minutes," she murmured and rolled over, nestling deeper in the blankets.

"Not today. We've got errands to run, remember?"

At that she succumbed to her yawn, flashing her jagged teeth, and pushed herself up to a sitting position. After a little more insistent encouragement, she too began to ready herself for the day. During the process, she opened her mouth several times to speak but was unable to. Something about the winter's stillness discouraged it. After the chaos of last night, the silence of this morning felt surreal and fragile. Like any moment it would shatter and the revelry would continue.

After Nott finished readying, they left their room. Caleb knocked quietly on Fjord and Molly's door. After several minutes of soft rustling, Fjord answered, looking rather sleep-deprived.

"How is he?" Caleb asked, glancing around Fjord.

Mollymauk was curled in the bed, his back to them, but Caleb could see the shallow rise and fall of his ribcage.

Fjord shrugged then sighed. "Still breathing."

They left Molly to his rest, and the three of them headed towards the girl's room. Caleb knocked several times without answer, so Nott stepped forward to finesse the lock. The door popped open to reveal the three women tangled in a pile on the bed. Caleb idly wondered if Jester's illness was contagious and if sleeping next to her was a risk, but at this point, all they could do was wait and see.

Beau and Yasha rose slowly, and given Jester's condition, Yasha elected to watch over her while the rest of the party sought help. So, in a silent line, Caleb, Nott, Fjord, and Beau, made their way downstairs.

The pub space below was empty save for two lone figures. An elven woman with unruly white hair swept up crumbs from the evening prior. The blue-tinge to her skin made her look frostbitten and the faint signs of age creased her face. She looked up, noticing them in surprise.

"Morning," Fjord murmured, acknowledging her with a nod.

"Morning," she returned. "Love told me you got in. She's off fetching a healer now," she said, broom hoovering frozen an inch above the floor. "I'm Rose." She turned to the figure at the bar. "Valentine, can you start on breakfast?"

Behind the bar, an ambiguously middle-aged elven man paused wiping down the counter to look up at them. He had a droopy face, a vacant expression, and skin such a deep blue-grey for a moment Caleb wondered if he was part Xhorhasian. After a pause he nodded and vanished off to the kitchen, leaving the room even stiller than it was previously.

Rose returned to sweeping up the remnants of last night's festivities. In the tranquility of the morning, only the scattered trash around the edges of the inn reminded them last night's celebrations hadn't been a dream.

Without anything to do but wait for Love or breakfast to arrive, the four of them seated themselves at the bar.

Nott chewed on her lip, playing with a ring with an unfocused gaze.

What was on her mind? Was it something beyond the immediate mission and the health of their companions? Perhaps he should broach the subject later. She was always so attentive to his needs and too often did he fail to return the favor.

He fell into their comfortable rhythm so naturally it was easy to forget the current Nott didn't have years of built-up relationship like he did. He'd known and loved her for sixteen years. She'd known him for six months, but she already loved him anyways.

He didn't deserve her.

Caleb took a shaky breath, focusing on his hands in his lap.

He couldn't give her what she wanted. Their goals conflicted. Anything he could do for her he would ultimately undo. The future Nott realized this. They had their falling out. She left with Beau and Yasha. He stayed.

Those last several months holed up in the castle, knee-deep in rotting spell books and diamonds, were the coldest of Caleb's life.

Maybe it was for the best that she wasn't there when he made his jump. He unwrote her. Could he look her in the eyes while he did so?

It didn't matter. This wasn't a question of what he wanted. It never was.

Before Caleb could continue to stew in his misery, the door opened with a gust of wind and Love stepped in, towing a dragonborn in robes behind her and breaking the morning's spell of silence.

She padded over to them with a crooked grin, trailing snowflakes in her wake, and introduced the man as a priest of Bahamut. Without delay, they abandoned the bar and walked the priest upstairs to Jester's room.

Yasha rose as they entered, and the priest pushed through to the front. He surveyed Jester with a frown and lightly pressed his scaled knuckles against her forehead. Jester groaned in her sleep but didn't wake.

"How long as she been like this?" the priest asked.

"Uhhh..." Fjord looked around at the rest of the group for the answer.

"Twelve days," Caleb said.

The priest tutted and turned back to Jester. He sank to his knees at her bedside, bowing his head low and appealing to Bahamut to heal the sorry soul before him. Warm magic fizzled through the air, radiating from the priest in waves. Jester's face relaxed, and with every rise and fall of her chest, the wet sound in her lungs faded. The spell ended and the priest stood.

"She'll need some sleep, but she'll be fine," he said.

The room sighed, looking around at each other with relieved gazes.

"Be watchful that she doesn't catch anything that bad again. Even the greatest of warriors can be killed by colds in Ice Haven," he said. "Now, take me to the next one."

When they opened the door, Molly sat up waiting for them, breathing shallowly with a sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Good morning. How are you feeling?" the priest asked, walking to him.

"Oh, absolutely terrible if we're being frank," he said with a wry smile he couldn't hold for long. His voice had a rough quality from something beyond tiredness.

Upon the cleric's request, Molly removed his shirt and Caleb's eyes widened. The bruise on his side had blossomed into a black, angry stain on his lavender skin, laced with a web of dark veins.

Fjord whistled and shook his head. "That does not look like a fun time, Molly."

Molly gave a little laugh. "You know it really—hey, _shit_ ," he hissed as the priest prodded the wound.

After a couple of mumbled notes, the priest moved on to Molly's ankle, but Caleb couldn't wrench his eyes from the bruise. His ribs had to be at least cracked, maybe worse for his breathing to sound like that. Why hadn't he told anyone? They couldn't have done anything different really, but still...

Caleb had spent hours at his side reading, but Molly hadn't mentioned it once.

Obviously, he owed no one an explanation, but why then was the idea of him keeping his pain hidden so disquieting?

Caleb frowned, toeing the floor with his boot. Admittedly, there were times when his negative emotions came first in the heat of the moment, and he had to work backward through the threads of trauma to find their source, but this present unease was difficult to trace.

The priest once again sunk to his knees in prayer, and Caleb boxed that particular emotional knot and shelved it for later with all the others. The comforting hum of healing magic filled the room, and Molly's swollen ankle shrunk back to its original size. The bruise on his ribs faded as the blood dispersed back into vessels. With a 'crack', his rib popped back into place.

"Okay, that smarts," Molly hissed. Color flooded back to his face, painting him his usual vivacious purple. Under the influence of the healing magic, even his hair seemed to perk up, falling back into its casual, beachy waves. Fully rejuvenated, he stuck out like a glittering, rainbow sore thumb in Ice Haven's array of greys and faded browns.

Caleb let out a sigh, letting more of the tension leave his body. Now, _this_ was the Mollymauk crystalized in his memory. Confident, handsome, and vibrant. Not a shadow of the pale man he buried years ago.

"Alright," the priest said, dusting off his hands as he rose. "By the power of Bahamut, you have been healed. Rejoice in his mercy."

"Absolutely. Will do," Molly said with a grin.

The priest nodded and turned, pushing through the rest of the Mighty Nein, but pausing once he reached the door. "And, if I may off some advice?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Beau said.

He scanned them with a raised brow. "Maybe think about finding a healer to travel with you for these situations. That's what most adventurers do."

"Cool. Thanks for the advice. Bye now," Beau said, closing the door on him.

"Tactfully done, Beau," Fjord said, shaking his head.

Molly shrugged his shirt back on and began relacing his boots. "So, what's the plan?"

…

The Mighty Nein, minus Jester, found their way downstairs just as the bartender, Valentine, emerged with several steaming plates. They settled themselves back at the bar, feeling much lighter all around.

"So you guys are the one's working with Lox, huh?" Valentine asked, watching them scarf down braised sausage with tired eyes.

Fjord looked up, then looked to Caleb in question, who looked to Fjord, shrugging.

"Oh, it's cool. We're, like, _in the know_ ," Valentine assured them with a painfully exaggerated wink.

Love leaned over the bar, cupping her full cheeks in her hands. "Yeah, yeah, The Gen—"

"Love, discretion, my dear," Rose called from a couple yards away before returning to her sweeping.

"Hold on, I may have something that can keep us from being overheard," Caleb said and put a hand in his component bag to rummage around.

"Oh, that's probably not necessary," Rose said, "Most people won't be up until noon today after the night they've had. As long as we're careful with our word choices, we'll be fine," she said, sending Love a pointed gaze before looking back to Caleb. "But a word of warning, son. There are places in Ice Haven not so friendly to magic. I'd be careful about using spells so freely," she said.

Caleb frowned. "What do you mean?"

Love jumped in. "Oh, Tomoe hates magic," she whispered conspiratorially. "So lots of places around the palace and the nobles' houses have runes that dispel it. Or at least alert them when it's being used."

Well shit.

"Tomoe is the countess, then?" Fjord asked.

Love cocked her head and quirked her lip in a frown. "He really didn't give you much information, did he?"

"No," Caleb said. His throat felt dry.

"Tomoe Heinai is the Countess of Ice Haven," Love said, "There was a coup years ago led by mages. They almost killed her, so she's been cautious ever since."

Shit. That was bad news. But he wasn't just any ordinary wizard. Maybe with some of his more powerful spells, there were ways to nullify that or at least skirt around it.

"The Countess, she's excitable then?" Caleb asked. "You've met her?"

Love gave them another confused look. "I work at the palace. I'm helping Lox with…the business they have here. I thought you knew that's why you were sent here?"

"Listen," Beau said, thrusting her plate at Valentine for more braised sausage, "The Gent—our business partner," she corrected, "didn't tell us much of anything. All we know is that Ice Haven sucks, and we're supposed to protect Lox or whoever from like muggers and bandits while they work on the job."

"I mean, I guess that's the general gist of it?" Love said with a shrug. "As far as the question about Tomoe goes," she looked to Caleb, "She's…nice? A little scary, but nice?" she said, biting her lip to think on it.

"Could you maybe explain a little more?" Yasha prompted.

"She keeps the Empire off our back, but she doesn't take any shit," Valentine said as he brought back Beau's plate filled with more sausage.

"How dangerous is she?" Caleb asked.

Love and Valentine looked at each other. "Well," Love started, "she's not, like, mean to the people here or anything, but it'd be good if she didn't find out what we were up to. But that's what Lox is for."

"And where is this Lox we keep hearing about?" Fjord asked.

"I saw them go out last night," Love said, looking to Valentine in question.

He shrugged. "Dunno. I don't think they came back yet, but to be fair, not many people ended up in their own beds, if you catch my drift," he said, giving another overexaggerated wink, just to make sure the Mighty Nein caught on.

"Damn, it sounds like we missed quite a party," Molly said with a wistful sigh, twirling his fork between his fingers.

"Should we be worried? About Lox? That's why we were sent here after all. Our business partner said Ice Haven itself was dangerous," Fjord said.

Love hummed, tilting her head from side to side while she thought. "Well, you have to be careful about the cold, but there's also a lot of different…factions here to watch out for," she said, slowly picking out the word.

"Gangs, you mean," Nott supplied.

"The like to be called merchant guilds," Valentine said. "But yeah, if the shoe fits…"

"These gangs, they give people trouble? Civilians?" Molly asked.

"They like to try and keep to themselves, but that doesn't stop people from going missing sometimes. But that happens in most cities, doesn't it?" Love asked, scanning the group with her milky white eyes wide in genuine question.

Caleb prodded at his last chunk of sausage. People did go missing in every big city, but that still didn't bode well. "Well, we need supplies today, ya?" he asked the group, "Maybe we keep an eye out for this Lox person while we're out?"

"Yeah, that sounds like a plan," Beau said. "What do they look like?" she asked Love.

"Oh, they had a really pretty blue cape with embroidery at the top," Love said with a grin, eyes drifting off as she thought about it.

"How about a physical description?" Fjord asked.

"Bronze eyepatch," Valentine added. "Bird engraved on the front."

"No, I mean like, a physical description," Fjord said gesturing to his body as if it'd help. "Race, hair color, things like that."

"Human with brown hair," Valentine said.

Love frowned. "I thought they were an elf with black hair?"

"Maybe a half-elf?" Valentine suggested.

"Yeah," Love said turning back to the Mighty Nein, "Probably a half-elf."

"Somehow that's not very reassuring," Nott said, kicking her dangling feet.

"Bronze eyepatch, got it," Molly said.

The Mighty Nein finished up breakfast and made themselves a shopping list, complete with shop recommendations and a set of confusing directions drawn on napkins from Love and Valentine. Fjord excused himself from the errand to stay behind and keep an eye on Jester. It certainly had nothing to do with his distaste for shopping and the cold, no sir. Still, Caleb commanded Frumpkin to stay behind with the duo just in case.

So, after everyone bundled themselves up as best they could, Molly, Yasha, Beau, Nott, and Caleb stood by the front door, reviewing the list one last time. Around them sleepy patrons finally began to filter down, making their way to the bar like sleepwalkers and filled the space with murmured conversation.

"We can probably spilt up to cover more ground," Molly said, handing the list to Yasha without looking at it himself.

"Yeah, that worked well last time," Yasha said, giving him one of her soft smiles.

"Oh, come now," Molly said, "Who's going to try and start something with you next to me?"

"He's got a point," Nott said.

Yasha sighed and wrapped a thick arm around his shoulder. "I guess."

He leaned into her easily, looping an arm around her waist. "So me and Yasha take the west market and you three take the east?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Why do I feel like you plan on causing mischief?" Caleb asked, giving him a skeptical look but was unable to keep a smirk from pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Me? No, never," Molly said, matching Caleb's smirk with a twinkle in his eye that suggested the opposite.

Beau cleared her throat. "Okay, so are we going now or what?"

They stepped out of The Tipsy Seal where frigid temperatures and lazy, drifting snowflakes greeted them. The fresh snow crunched under their feet as the two groups prepared to part ways. Beau and Nott turned to walk away, but Caleb paused.

"Molly?" he asked, voice manifesting in the frozen air in a puff of fog.

"Hm?" Molly looked to him with curious eyes.

"Um, be careful…this time, ya?" he asked, suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious.

Molly studied him for a fraction of a second with a shade of confusion passing over him before a smile took its place. But it wasn't one of Molly's standard crooked grins or the wide, toothy ones meant to sell something. It was small and quiet, leaving just the ghost of a dimple on his tattooed cheek.

"Can do," he said quietly.

Caleb stood there, feeling like he needed to respond, but the words evaded him.

"Come on, Widogast," Beau called, dragging him away.

He let her do it, trying not to look to hard into the oddness of that last exhcnage.

As they approached the Ice Haven market, the streets began to fill, and and grew loud with chatter. They reached the entrance of the market to find a long street thick with people with shops on either side. Strings of red lanterns crisscrossed the way, giving color to the frosted world. Raised braziers held glowing embers to keep the merchants warm. They passed silvery hare pelts, trays of horse hearts, and fish frozen so stiff they stuck straight out of their baskets like macabre bouquets.

Despite the chaos, they managed to hunt down an herbal shop to replace what they'd used from Jester's store and a clothing shop where underprepared tourists, like themselves, could buy more insulated clothing for an exorbitant markup. Caleb managed to bid the shopkeep down slightly, and they were able to walk away with fur-lined coats for Beau, Fjord, Nott, along with a set of thick child-sized boots for Nott's exposed toes.

"I don't like them," she announced as she walked stiff-legged down the street.

"I know, but if you don't wear them your toes will get cold and fall off," he reminded her.

"I can't grip—" Nott started, but Beau cut her off.

"Woah, check that shit out," she said, nodding towards the end of the block. An ornate, three-level building sprung from the icy mist. It had several decorative spires topped with bizarre, onion-shaped domes in a variety of colors and patterns.

"What do you think that is?" Nott asked, already moving towards it.

"I don't know, but we're gonna find out," Beau said and jogged ahead.

Nott and Caleb trailed behind at a slower, but still brisk pace.

He felt a small, cold hand wrap around his own, and he looked down to find Nott watching him with a conflicted look on her face.

Caleb paused by the mouth of an alley, pulling them a step or two away from the flow of traffic. "Is there something the matter? You need to wear boots but—"

"It's not that," she said, looking at the shrinking Beauregard then up at him. "I've…" she trailed off and frowned, considering her words.

That was uncharacteristic. Was this serious?

"You know I care about you, right?" she finally said.

That statement sent shivers down his spine and set him on edge. No good conversation ever started this way. He swallowed, eyeing her cautiously. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"So then…" she held his hand tight, "if something was going on you'd tell me, right?" she asked, looking up at him with her wide owl eyes.

Oh.

Cool guilt tied his guts into knots, but he forced his face and tone to stay neutral. "Yeah. Of course. Remember what I said? We're in this together, you and me, right?" he said, hating every poisonous word as it fell from his mouth.

She regarded him them, scanning his face for answers. With a sigh, she looked away, withdrawing her hand from his. "Yeah. I remember."

Caleb opened his mouth then closed it. What else could he say? Just regurgitate old lines from when he still believed that was true? Back when he thought they could both benefit from each other? But it wasn't like that. He was a parasite. The world's biggest tapeworm leeching of her kindness until he got what he wanted and discarded her.

At least when Trent used people he used his underlings. Not his friends.

"Guys, guys," cut Beau's voice through his fog of self-loathing. "I don't usually go for this kind of stuff, but you've got to see this."

She towed them the rest of the way to the fancy building and threw open the door, revealing a sight so wonderous it managed to push Caleb's guilt back for a moment.

The shop had an open floor plan and a three-story high ceiling to accommodate the shelves upon shelves of potion bottles. The shelving along the sides ran the full length of the wall, complete with sliding ladders to give customers access to the top rows. The bottles came in every size, shape, and color. At head-height to Caleb's left sat a shelf of amber potions the size of a thimble, while in the center of the shop rested a massive, glittering bottle, six feet tall and filled with a churning red liquid. The air was thick with scents, mostly earthy and sweet.

"Welcome to Ms. Washmiggle's Potion Emporium," called a plump halfling woman from across the shop.

Caleb blinked, taking a moment to gather his bearings. By the time he collected himself, Nott vanished from his side, running down the aisles with the light from the bottles glittering in her eyes.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. What was he going to do about Nott? Maybe all he could hope for was Ice Haven to provide enough distractions to keep her mind off of him.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. "Hey man, you alright?" Beau asked.

"Just fine," he said, pulling away from her and making a beeline for the nearest unoccupied aisle. He spent the duration of their visit circling his friends to avoid them.

Half an hour later, Nott made her way to the counter, carrying an armful of potions and alchemy supplies. She dumped her stash out before her, and the halfling started to add up the total.

Caleb sighed and squared his shoulders. He couldn't keep avoiding her—that would only make her more suspicious. He stepped forward, putting down a couple of gold pieces.

She looked up at him, scooping the potions into her bag before Caleb could mentally inventory all of it. "Caleb? I've got it, really."

"I know," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder giving what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. He turned to the halfling and pushed his gold forward. "Are there any bookstores around here?"

The closest bookstore wasn't the largest in Ice Haven, according to Ms. Washmiggle, but it was large enough for Caleb to lose himself in the dusty aisles. He ran a hand along the worn spines and breathed in that familiar papery smell that suffused so much of his life.

Beau waited by the door, flirting poorly with the red-headed clerk, while Nott silently bobbed along at his side, watching him examine the books with curiosity.

The store's selection of books on magic was measly at best, but now that he'd achieved his goal and wasn't hunting a specific type of magic, he could just study whatever he fancied. With that in mind, he pulled a thin tome on divination and headed for fiction. The bookstore was small enough that they didn't separate their genre fiction and their regular fiction, making for an eclectic mix of titles:

 _'_ _The Temptations of Lord Laughshield'_

 _'_ _The Cleric Murders'_

 _'_ _Eggs, Ogre Easy'_

 _'_ _Caratra Darksbane and the Temple of Terror'_

 _'_ _Sixteen Princes and a Midwife'_

He paused, pulling the last one off the shelf and flipping it over to read the synopsis. Apparently, through some sequence of events, a put-upon midwife had become responsible for helping a bunch of spoiled princes escape the country after the monarchy was overthrown. Hijinks ensued. It sounded ridiculous but still self-aware and entertaining. After the last book they'd read, he craved a little light reading.

His friends would like this one more too. Not that the situation to read to them would present itself again. What would Molly think of this choice? He always had such unexpected insights. His commentary on this one—a bunch of people trying to scam their way out of the country—would be fascinating.

Caleb added _'Sixteen Princes and a Midwife'_ to his stack before he could stop himself. He shouldn't. He needed to pinch pennies. Especially after paying for part of Nott's alchemy to mend that bridge. But when he put the books down on the counter, and the clerk nodded at _'Sixteen Princes and a Midwife'_ and said it was a fun read, he couldn't swallow down the excitement simmering in his stomach.

This was just in case. Molly seemed to enjoy being read to. What if he brought it up and all Caleb had on him was his boring books on magic? Besides, Mollymauk for all his virtues—and vices—didn't seem like the erudite type, so this budding interest in books was something to be encouraged, right?

This way he'd be prepared. Just in case.

Feeling more excited than he had any right to be, Caleb left the shop with Nott trailing behind.

"Wait," Nott said, pulling Caleb by his jacket and breaking him out of his book club reverie. "Beau' still back there," she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

Through the window he could see Beau leaned over the counter, talking to the clerk again. He sighed and leaned back against the wall at the mouth of the nearest alley. "This shouldn't take long," he murmured, leaning his head back to look at the clouded sky above.

"Caleb?" Nott asked, but there was something serious and firm in her voice.

Caleb gaze flicked to her and he pushed himself off the wall, realizing too late he'd let himself be cornered alone again. "Uh, Yeah? What's up?" he asked, trying to casually edge his way towards to street to be more in the public eye.

Nott blocked him, crossing her arms. "Caleb," she said, tone so serious it made him pause. "I know something's wrong. I know you've been hiding something from me. And I—"

"You're wrong, Nott," he cut her off. He couldn't do this. They couldn't do this.

"I'm not wrong," she said, stepping closer and raising her voice a notch.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said, narrowing his eyes and keeping his voice cool.

"You say we're in this together but won't tell me anything," she said, taking another step forward. He took a step back. She continued, "You've got to—"

"I don't have to do anything because there's nothing wrong," he hissed. "You're imagining things."

"I'm not!"

"You are!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "You're always—!" but he bit off the insult before the venom could leave his tongue. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and counting to five.

"Caleb, we need to talk about this—" she said.

He felt the anger boil up again, so he spun on his heels and marched in the other direction down the alley. He wasn't doing this. He wasn't going to fight with her. Not a second time.

The freezing air stung at the sweat beading on his forehead, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. He needed to be better. Nott was already seeing through him and he wasn't close enough to his goal yet. He couldn't let a lifetime of work fall apart now. No matter how vile it made him feel or who it hurt.

Something squished under his boot, and he looked down to find the snow beneath it stained crimson. He followed the trail of blood with his eyes to a nearby figure, stuffed behind a barrel and out of view from the passing populace on the street beyond. A cruel spear pinned them through the chest and into the wall, and their jet-black eyes were vacant and focusless.

A pale changeling slumped dead before him, complete with blue cape and bronze eyepatch.

…

 _Caleb: *is worried for the people he cares about*_

 _Caleb: Is this the trauma talking?_

 _As always, your guys' consistent support and encouragement both baffles and delights me. I feel very lucky to have such kind people engaging with my story._

 _Commenters are the hydrangeas in my garden, the rain on my summer nights, the croutons in my salad._


	10. The Best-Laid Schemes of Gentlemen

**Chapter Ten:**

 **The Best-Laid Schemes of Wizards and Gentlemen**

In which complications arise and the amount of cursing in this fic doubles in a single chapter.

 _…_

"Fuck," Beau said, summing up the situation quite succinctly.

"You can say that again," Molly said with an uneasy chuckle.

"Fuck," Beau repeated.

The Mighty Nein circled around the dead changeling—sleepy Jester included.

"How did this happen?" Fjord asked, rubbing his chin and shaking his head.

"Well it appears they were stabbed through the chest," Nott said while crouched beside the corpse, lazily picking through their pockets.

"I got that, thank you, Nott," Fjord said, "I meant how did this happen to _us_?"

"We got here two days late," Caleb said, staring blankly at the corpse. A fat snowflake drifted down and landed on his frozen nose. Why did things keep going wrong? Was this part of Wish? That every way he turned, every fleeting chance he had, was yanked out of his grip by circumstance?

"Didn't the Gentleman mention something about this?" Yasha asked.

"He warned us about random muggings," Caleb said, punctuating it with a deep grimace. Why did everything he touched keep going to shit? He should be used to fate's constant abuse by now, but every punch thrown still came as a cruel surprise.

"I mean we still got paid the advance, right? Not much else we can do about it now," Beau said.

Caleb shoved his hands in his pockets so he could clench them into fists without the group noticing. There had to be a way to squeeze more profit out of this venture. He couldn't afford to waste two weeks of his one-month deadline for a measly thousand gold.

Yasha cleared her throat softly. "Is there anything you can do, Jester?" she asked.

The group turned to Jester, and she pursed her lips.

"Um, I can try Spare the Dying, but I think it's been too long," she said with a shrug. Tucking her skirt under her knees she took a squat and held her open palms out at the pallid body. "I spare you from dying," she said, face screwing up in concentration. The air around her palms distorted from the magic like a heat haze, but the corpse remained still.

"I think they're pretty dead," Nott decided, pilfering a series of narrow lockpicking tools from the corpse's pockets.

"Being stabbed through the heart tends to have that effect," Molly said with a quirked eyebrow.

Caleb swallowed hard, focusing on the snow packed between his boots. "Once someone's been stabbed in the chest, there's not much that can be done without powerful magic," he said, schooling his face into a blank mask. The blood was already frozen into a red slush.

Nott frowned and moved on to check the body's shoes. "Well they don't have anything good on them," Nott said, withdrawing a small rock and taking an experimental bite out of it. Dissatisfied, she moved to put it in her pouch. "It's all garbage"

"Nott, let me see that," Caleb said, snapping out of his trance and pushing forward.

She met his eyes with a sorrowful expression but wordlessly placed the stone in his palm.

Caleb pushed away the pang of guilt he felt at that and turned around to hold the stone between two fingers, showing it to the group. "This—do any of you recognize this?"

A wave of confusion washed over the party as they looked to each other for answers. Beau's head snapped up first, and she started to clap in excitement.

"Oh! It's—It's the thing! It's the thing! From Zadash! In Jester's bag!" she said.

"Oh my god, I still have that!" Jester said with a gasp, stars in her wide violet eyes.

"Right, yeah, so it's a sending stone," Caleb said quickly before the conversation could derail further. "And each stone has an exact match that you can use to talk to whoever has the other half."

"This is the other half to mine," Jester gasped.

"That'll be really useful," said Nott.

"No, no," Caleb said, stepping forward. "It probably doesn't pair to a stone we found have way across the twin most likely belongs to a friend or a family member or—"

"A business partner," Fjord concluded.

Caleb gave him an appreciative nod. "It would make sense."

"Wait, so you think the Gentleman's on the other end of that thing?" Beau asked.

Caleb shrugged. "Well, it's a possibility, but I don't know if it's worth the risk? To use it, I mean. And we still don't know without a doubt that this is—was Lox."

"How many people do you see walking around with bronze eyepatches, Caleb?" Beau asked.

"I don't know, it's a big city," he said defensively. "This could also be a trap of some sort. We know there are a lot of different forces at play here."

"I'm going to side with Caleb on this one," Fjord said. "There's too much we don't know about this."

"Well…" Jester said, teetering her head from side to side, "I can still speak with the dead a little. We could find out who they are and who the stone is for?" she said, looking up to the rest of the party.

Caleb blinked. That was actually…a really good idea. "How many questions do we get?" he asked.

"Five questions every ten days," she said.

"So what you're telling us is that unless someone wants to room with a dead body, we only get one set," Beau said with a frown.

"Not it," Nott said.

"Not it," "Not it," followed up Beau and Molly simultaneously.

The weather in Ice Haven might preserve the body for ten days, but there was no guarantee of that, or that they could stash it anywhere without it being found or disturbed. They could only depend on having five questions. "We need to decide what we're going to ask beforehand," he said at last.

After a not-so-brief conversation, the party settled on three questions and decided to save the last two until they knew more.

Jester, still in a squatting position, raised her hand again towards the changeling's broken chest. She wiggled her fingers at the body—Caleb wasn't sure if that was part of the spell or just added flair. "Okay okay okay okay," she said, preparing herself. "Dead person, please come back and tell us the things we want to know," she said in her little sing-song voice and snapped her fingers.

The corpse stirred. Jester yelped and teetered back into Yasha's solid legs. The rest of the group took an instinctual step backward as the corpse's head rose, still cocked at an odd angle. Its chested shuddered and a ragged breath whistled through collapsed lungs.

"Um, hi, hello, we're the Mighty Nein," Jester said as she righted herself. "I think we came to help you? But we were a little late," she added out of the corner of her mouth.

"Sorry about that," Beau said.

"Um, yeah, anyways," Jester continued, "Can you please maybe tell us your name?"

The changeling didn't move for a moment. Their exposed eye was clouded, focused on planes far away. "Lox," they said at last in a whisper.

The group groaned, shooting each other uneasy expressions.

"Well, shit," Fjord said, running a hand through his cropped hair. "It's official then."

"Okay okay, how aboutttt…" Jester paused for a moment.

"Who killed them," Caleb prompted.

"Oh yeah, who killed you?" she asked.

"Human female. Dark hair. Sharp knives. Sharkfin Syndicate," Lox hissed.

"What the hell is a Sharkfin Syndicate?" Beau asked, looking to Caleb.

"Maybe that's our next question?" Yasha said.

"Ask why them why they were killed," Caleb said.

"Why were you killed?" Jester asked.

Lox took another, rattling breath. "Found the Countess's treasury. False wall in the library. Deal went bad."

Caleb stood up straighter and cogs of his mind turned. Treasury? That had a promising ring to it. It could be an even better target then the bank in Zadash. Less guarded. Maybe even no magical wards if Love's story about the Countess's disdain for magic was true. That could get him part—if not all the way—to his goal.

This could work. But if the anti-magic rumor was true, he couldn't do it alone. Jester asked Lox who owned the sending stone's twin, but Caleb barely heard her over the roar of his own thoughts.

"The Gentleman has the other stone," Lox whispered.

"Well, that saves us a little grief. Who wants to be the one to tell him then?" Molly asked, clapping his hands together and looking around at the suddenly shy group with raised eyebrows.

"We do have one question left," Yasha pointed out.

Caleb held up a hand, still processing several trains of thought at once. "We should talk to the Gentleman. See what he knows first before we use our last question."

"Agreed," said Fjord. "Go ahead, Caleb." He nodded to the stone still in Caleb's palm.

"I don't—I shouldn't—" Caleb sighed, rubbing his face. He didn't want to be the bearer of such shitty news, but at least he could do it in twenty-five words or less. "Fine." He closed his fingers around his palm, directing a spark of magic into it.

He centered himself, then mentally projected his message into the void.

' _It's the Mighty Nein. Lox was killed by the Sharkfin Syndicate for information. What do we do now?_ '

There was a beat of silence.

' _Fuck_ ,' came a familiar voice, and the line went dead.

"What did he say? What did he say?" Jester asked, practically bouncing up and down.

Caleb opened his mouth to relay the Gentleman's eloquent statement, but he felt the cold tingle of foreign magic spark at the back of his skull. Before he could throw up defenses, the Gentleman's voice echoed in Caleb's head again.

 _'_ _Stay in Ice Haven. I'll contact you in a few hours.'_

 _'_ _Uh, yeah, sure. Got it,'_ Caleb managed, and the connection was severed once more.

Caleb conveyed both short exchanges.

"Do you think he knows someone who can bring the dead back to life? Maybe a little necromancy?" Beau asked.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Molly said.

Jester shrugged. "This mission did seem really really important to him."

"If Lox isn't brought back to life, he'll need someone to take over the job," Caleb said, flicking his gaze upwards to meet Fjord's.

"You think he'll ask us," he concluded.

"We are already here," Caleb said, straining to keep his voice even and his expression one of casual interest. He _needed_ this. If he couldn't convince them willingly, he might have to try and compel them through magical means, though that wasn't a guarantee and had a time limit. "He'd probably pay us even more than the 10,000 gold we originally agreed on," he continued.

"Not to be a downer, but the last sucker who took the job did get stabbed to a wall," Beau said, nodding towards the still-wheezing corpse. "No offense, Lox."

Fjord's eyebrows pulled together in a pensive expression while he rubbed the back of his neck, considering both points. At last, he shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Caleb spoke first.

"All I'm saying is that we should consider it," he said. He clenched the sending stone in his sweaty palms while a manic energy vibrated in his gut. "I think we should use our last question to find out what the original plan was. That way if—and that's a big _if_ , but _if_ the Gentleman offers us the job, we have something to work from," he said, hoping it came off as a reasonable suggestion and not the lunatic ravings of a wizard in need of a fortune.

"What, you mean like ask right now?" Beau asked.

Caleb swallowed and nodded. Not trusting himself to speak.

Jester looked up at the rest of the group for confirmation. She rocked on her heels back and forth in the snow, making a soft crunching sound as she shifted her weight.

"It's your call, Jester," Beau said. She crossed her arms and directed a challenging look at Caleb.

"Okay. Let's do it," Jester said with a toothy grin then focused her attention on the corpse for one last time. "Lox, what was your super-secret super-sneaky plan to get the Countess's blood?"

Lox cocked their head, dun white eyes revealing nothing. One last shuddering breath wracked their frame. "Poison the Countess's flask at the masquerade. Turn into the doctor. Pull her aside and drain her blood. Raid the treasury. Leave on the first ship out," they hissed. They released the final syllable and the last of their breath escaped in a winding exhale. The body sunk back against the wall, head lolling to the side once more.

"Well that seems easier said than done," Molly said.

"Oh, but did you hear them? They said there was going to be a party!" Jester gasped. "Guys we should totally go. Wouldn't that be so fun?"

"I think you usually need to be invited to those things, don't you?" Yasha asked.

"Not if you're really sneaky," Jester said in a sing-song voice with a twinkle in her eye.

The discussion continued as they made their way back to The Tipsy Seal, with Jester prattling on about the many reasons they should definitely try and sneak in to the Countess's masquerade. Caleb chimed in whenever he could without sounding desperate, and Nott walked next to him in silence.

By the time they reached the inn, Caleb's nose and fingers were blue with the cold. Love was absent, but Rose worked the bar while half a dozen patrons roamed about, playing cards and engaging in casual conversation.

The party approached the bar, and Rose greeted them with a weary smile. "Successful shopping trip?" she asked.

Caleb rested his elbows on the bar and leaned in to avoid being overheard. "No. We found our mutual friend dead in an alley."

Rose stiffened, eyes going wide.

"Do you know anything about a Sharkfin Syndicate?" he asked.

Rose glanced at the other patrons before nodding back towards the kitchen. "Talk to Valentine."

They found Valentine staring vacantly into space and chewing on the corroded chain of a necklace while a pan of sausage burned.

"Hey, hey, hey, Earth to Valentine," Beau said, snapping her fingers.

Valentine blinked out of his reverie, letting the necklace fall from his mouth where the locket stained his shirt with spit. Truly the Gentleman had paired them with Ice Haven's best and brightest.

They explained the situation to him and he reacted with just as many expletives as everyone had.

"So we need to know about this Sharkfin Syndicate," Caleb concluded.

"Uh, I mean, they're kinda just like one of the gangs around here we mentioned, ya know?" Valentine said in his slow, meandering cadence.

"Ya, but do you think they knew what else Lox was planning? About us and the Gentleman?" Caleb pressed.

Valentine rocked his head side to side as he considered the question. "I mean, it's possible? But they wouldn't really care about the whole blood thing. They kinda just like money, so they probably only care about the treasury thing you mentioned."

"But how dangerous are they?" Caleb continued, "Do you know how many of them there are? Would they try and come after us?"

"I mean, just about as dangerous as anyone with a knife is, I guess? They're pretty sneaky, but they're not all that smart. Otherwise they probably wouldn't have killed Lox," he said with a shrug. "If they know who you are and why you're here, I don't think they'd try and mess with you? Taking on seven body guards sent by the Gentleman himself isn't really their MO," he explained. "There's only like ten or fifteen of them I think." He poked at the blackened sausage with a knobby finger. "Still I probably wouldn't let anyone go out alone if I were you guys, but that's good Ice Haven advice in general."

"So you don't think they'll cause us any trouble from here on out?" Fjord asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Valentine shrugged and started a new pan of sausages. "I mean, I can't say that, but if the plan's still on, they'll probably at least be there during the masquerade causing a ruckus."

While Valentine and the Mighty Nein continued to speak, a plan clicked into place in Caleb's brain, sending goosebumps up his arms. This wasn't just feasible, this was perfect.

"This—this is good. Very good," he said, drawing all eyes in the room. Beau opened her mouth to object, but he continued before she could. " _If_ we're the ones who have to do this," he started slowly, a small smile playing at his lips at his own ingenuity, "and we know the Sharkfins are going to be there, we could just frame them for whatever happens to the Countess."

"Ooh, I like that," Molly said, matching Caleb's smile.

"We're experts at framing people," Nott explained to Valentine.

He accepted the tidbit with an easy nod.

After a little more discussion on the Sharkfin Syndicate and Lox, Valentine dug out a spare key to Lox's room and gave the party directions. Led by Nott The Best Detective Agency, they found their way to a cluttered, lived-in room with papers scattered about. Jester and Nott poked around for more clues about Lox's intentions, Molly and Yasha left to grab food, and Caleb hung back against the wall, refining the details of his budding plan.

 _If_ he convinced the Mighty Nein to take the job willingly, and _if_ they managed to work out the fine details of poisoning the Countess, then all he'd have to do was take care of the Sharkfin Syndicate and convince the Mighty Nein into a short detour into the treasury for themselves.

Say they confronted the Syndicate by the treasury and managed to knock them unconscious, he doubted any of the Mighty Nein would turn down a couple minutes in the vault to fill their pockets. They could frame the Syndicate for that too.

It was a longshot. With more moving parts than he could count. But it was a chance. A better chance than trying to throw together a hairbrained scheme to rob the Bank of Zadash. At least this way he'd have his friend's help. Probably.

"Any discoveries?" Molly asked, strolling into the room with a tray of food suspended on the tips of his fingers. Yasha followed close behind.

"I found a book," announced Nott, holding a navy tome high in the air for everyone to see.

"Anything interesting?" Molly asked, offering her a date.

"I think it's alchemy," she said, taking the date and swallowing it—pit and all.

"May I see?" Caleb asked, pushing himself off the wall.

She looked at him with her sad, puppy dog eyes for a beat before offering up the book and turning her face away. That interaction kicked the air from his lungs, and he strained to keep his expression measured as he took the book from her.

So that was where they stood now.

The blue book had neither title nor author, and the signatures were beginning to pull free from their loose leather bindings. Indecipherable lists in a scrawling hand filled most pages with accompanying sketches of berries, mushrooms, and other miscellany. A large, old bloodstain tarnished the corner of the pages, and Caleb idly wondered if that was Lox's blood or one of their victim's.

He cast Comprehend Languages on the script only to realize it was in Common already—the handwriting was just atrocious. With a frown he handed back to Nott. She gave him another sad glance before holding the book close to her chest and slinking across the room.

Jester gave a large sigh and plopped down on Lox's bed. "I don't think we're going to find anything else," she admitted. "Has the Gentleman gotten back to you yet, Caleb?" She asked, raising her head just enough to look at him across the room.

"Nein."

"Well, you know if we've got time to burn…" Molly started, eyebrows raised, "Yasha and I did find something fun on our excursion today." His tail flicked behind him as a thin grin worked onto his lips. "Nothing as exciting as a dead body, mind you."

…

Mollymauk's promise of distraction lead them back down towards the boiling lake. Despite only being late-afternoon the sun was already beginning to edge towards the horizon, pulling their shadows long behind them.

Molly and Yasha brought them to a wooden gateway that announced 'White Eel Springs' in crisp blue letters.

"A bathhouse," Caleb concluded.

"Naturally," Molly said. "First thing you do in every new city."

Molly didn't have to do much persuading in order to usher the frozen bunch off the street and into the warm glow of the spa.

The gnome inside had bright eyes and an easy grin. Molly put down an extra gold for himself and Yasha, earning the two of them a bag full of herbs and a bar of pink soap. After accepting their coins, the gnome led them down the hall and slid open a door. A cloud of steam billowed out to reveal the interior of the room.

Caleb paused, eyes wide as he absorbed the sight. The room had three walls and opened to a massive hot spring that could almost be a lake of its own. Minerals clouded the water, dyeing it a curious sky blue. In the distance, bobbed the heads and torsos of strangers obscured by the steam. A gargantuan canvas covered the sky, blocking out the prying eyes of the city and holding the weather at bay.

Molly broke the moment of awe with a pleased laugh, shirking off his coat and throwing it to one of the baskets along the wall. "Feels like old times," he said to Yasha, nodding to the circus-like swooping tent above them.

Before Yasha could respond, a nude Jester streaked past. "Cannonball!" she screeched and leapt into the hot springs with a large splash that soaked Caleb's pants.

The rest of the Mighty Nein shrugged off their clothes and gear with varying degrees of care.

Caleb sloughed off his clothes in record time to minimize his exposure to the freezing air. Like a grotesque human bath bomb, the moment he stepped into the hot spring his layers of dirt and grime exploded out from him in an incriminating circle. He sunk beneath the surface, letting the hot water revitalize his numbs fingers and melt the hardened knots in his back.

He broke the surface, running his hands through his hair to comb the old mud out. How long had it been since he last bathed? Caleb did the mental math while his friends filed in around him.

He kicked away from the center and settled on the submerged bench that lined the spring.

Yasha scooted past Caleb, lugging her greatsword as always, and settled between him and Molly.

"Why always the sword, Yasha?" Caleb asked. He'd always wondered but the timing was never right.

Yasha gave him a curious look. "Shaving."

"Shaving," Caleb repeated.

"Yeah, with my sword. Don't you remember? I—"

"Oh yeah, yeah, I remember. I always thought it might be a safety thing or, you know, like a religious thing."

"Oh," she said, blinking. "No it's just for shaving. Do you—?" she gestured to his face, "the face?"

"I—uh, yeah, sure. Why not," Caleb said. He hadn't had a clean-shaven face in years.

While Yasha worked at his face with a six-foot greatsword, he watched Jester in his periphery. She tried to coax Nott in, but Nott staunchly refused.

"C'mon Nott, just put a toe in," Fjord called. "The water's not going to hurt you."

After several minutes of persuading, Nott pulled off her boots and sunk her feet in the water, coming to sit on the edge of the spring. Caleb smiled to himself at that.

"Done," Yasha said, withdrawing.

Caleb ran an experimental hand along his jaw, as Molly leaned forward to see around Yasha.

"I think that's even better than the last time, Yasha," he said. "If you get much better you're going to have to start charging."

"Thank you, Yasha," Caleb murmured. For a greatsword, the shave was remarkably even. He caught the murky reflection of his 33-year-old self in the swirling water. A red-headed man stared back at him, tired blue eyes unblinking under heavy brows and lips pressed thin in consideration.

He looked…normal.

Ragged around the edges, sure. But the man staring back at him could've been a baker or a leatherworker or a potter. He was a far cry from the bearded, half-feral wizard who spent months alone in an abandoned castle learning to time travel. He could see shades of youth glimmer through. Echoes of that haughty teenager, drunk on his own magic, and blinded to his mistakes.

Caleb turned away. Sour taste in his mouth.

"Hey, uh, guys," Beau said, in a tone that broke Caleb out of his contemplation.

"Yeah, what's wrong?" Fjord asked, sitting up straighter.

"Um, you know," she began, nodding her head slowly, "I'm not quite sure this is a bathhouse because I think we're the only ones not wearing any clothes."

There was a beat of silence as all seven heads turned to examine the other patrons to find Beau was correct. An elderly dwarf waded past them, still in his hose and shorts, and shot them a scathing look.

Oh.

Fjord just groaned and slid down the side of the spa until only a black tuff of hair poked through the water's surface.

"You know it didn't actually say 'bathhouse' on any of the signs," Caleb said faintly. Of course this would happen to them.

Molly gave a low chuckle that evolved into full, bubbling laughter. The bright sound infected Jester next, who added her giggles to the symphony, and the rest of them succumbed soon after.

The warm feeling rose through Caleb's lungs and escaped his lips. He wouldn't have been able to bite it back even if he wanted to. The exertion of laughter sent the blood rushing to his fingers and toes, and he laughed himself breathless and dizzy. His heart fluttered in his chest and he couldn't remember the last time it had done so for anything outside of fear.

To his left, Molly's laughter faded into high-pitched gasps for air as his chest heaved. He wiped the tears from his eyes, and his jewelry twinkled in the dusk. "Fuck," he managed, before collapsing into giggles again.

"You," Caleb said, pointing an accusatory finger at him, but barely holding his own laughter at bay. "You did this. You are the architect."

Molly, still laughing, shook his head. "Swear to god I didn't know," he managed. "But if I did, I would've—" and he broke off into another fit of laughter.

Even Fjord couldn't keep the smile off his face, choosing to lean back with a consigned grin and try and come to terms with his new life as an exhibitionist.

Caleb surveyed the group, warmth flooding his chest. Their faces were flushed with laughter, and they grinned at each other, stark naked with tears in their eyes.

He loved these people. This ridiculous band of misfits who couldn't read signs and would strip naked at the first body of water they found.

He had loved them for a long time.

He loved Yasha, who exuded such peace around her friends but turned into a tempest to protect them. He loved Fjord and his courage despite his fears. He loved Jester and her warmth and the light she exuded so strongly that almost made him want to try religion. Almost. He loved Beau and her good heart and her earnestness hidden beneath an all-too-familiar prickly outer shell. He loved Molly and his laughter and his intoxicating ideology and his infectious joy. And he loved Nott. Kind, perfect Nott. The bravest person he'd ever known who invested so heavily in a broken man for so long.

He loved them. And if he succeeded in creating an opportunity to take his second time jump, he would take it, but…in the meantime he'd protect them. From bandits, and gangs, and the Countess herself. From the world if he had to. With every ounce of magic in him.

No harm would befall the Mighty Nein while he still lingered with them, this he vowed to himself.

The group's mirth settled into a satisfied hum, and Caleb was content to relax and listen to the conversations flowing around him. Molly took to washing Yasha's hair with the soap he bought, Jester and Beau joked about the dwarf still glaring at them from across the hot springs, and Nott withdrew from the springs to pick through the other patron's belongings in the baskets lining the walls while Fjord continued to debate with her about the safety of water.

The steam swirled across the surface of the opaque spring, carrying the scent of lavender and fennel from Molly's herbs. The sky sunk from a pale blue to pink then a deeper purple that reflected off the snow of the surrounding mountains and made them look like raw amethysts. Just at the edge of the canopy, a silvery moon adorned the sky, about to rise from view for her nightly performance.

Across the spring a couple teens splashed each other, rowdy laughter carrying over faintly. Caleb watched them as they broke into pairs where one person hoisted the other onto their shoulders. The laughter intensified as the kids on top tried to push each other off—sending some tumbling into the water with a massive splash. He remembered playing similar games in distant summers in dirty lakes without names.

"Hey, hey, Yasha, you wanna—?" Beau nodded towards the teens, trying and failing to seem disinterested.

Caleb hid a small smile.

Yasha paused and withdrew her hands from the mountain of soapsuds now piled on Molly's head. "What? Oh, the game?"

"I mean, if that's not your kinda thing that's cool," Beau said with a stiff shrug and cleared her throat.

Yasha looked from Beau to the teens and back again.

"You should," Caleb said in Celestial.

She gave him an inquisitive look, raising a dark eyebrow, then looking down at her soap-covered hands.

"He'll be fine. Go have fun," he said, still in Celestial. Maybe he was still feeling sentimental from the earlier laughing fit, but he liked seeing Beau and Yasha together. They worked well as a pair. He'd seen it firsthand. And Beau needed all the help she could get.

Yasha considered his offer for a moment more before nodding slowly at him then she looked to Beau. "Clothed."

"Oh, uh, yeah yeah yeah, sure. That's what I meant," Beau managed as Yasha pushed herself out of the water to hunt down her clothes.

"Hey now, wait a minute," Molly called as bubbles dripped down his face and over his left eye.

Beau ignored him as she hopped out of the bath after Yasha. Jester snickered then mumbling something to Fjord that made him shake his head and grin.

"Yasha," Molly protested, soap still dripping down his face. He turned to Caleb. "Why would you do this to me, Caleb?" he asked with fake indignation. "How am I supposed to get the knots out now?"

"I—sorry…I can try—Would you like me to—?" he gestured at Molly's mess of hair.

"Well, it _is_ the least you can do after running Yasha off," Molly said graciously. He turned his tattooed back to Caleb, allowing him full access to the back of his head.

"Ah, okay," Caleb said, unprepared for Molly to accept his offer. This was what he got for trying to play matchmaker. His hands hovered over the piled suds. "Do I just—?"

"Just watch for the knots by the horns. They're hell to get out myself," Molly said.

Alright. Okay. This day had taken several odd turns so far and apparently it wasn't done yet. Caleb cautiously worked his hands into the bubbles. "Horns seem…inconvenient at times."

Molly gave a casual shrug. "Good for jewelry. Killer headaches some days though."

At that, a very determined Beauregard and a slightly less determined Yasha—both half-way clothed—waded past them towards the unruly teens. Jester wished them luck before returning to her quiet conversation with Fjord.

Caleb watched them fade into the steam before directing his attention back to the task at hand. He buried his hands deeper into the mountain of suds and ran his fingers through Molly's cool hair, letting the dark waves pull through his fingers. "You don't think they're cute together?" Caleb asked.

Molly blinked in surprise for a moment. "Of course I think they're cute. Yasha looks good with anyone," Molly said, watching the two women stride out towards the unsuspecting teens. "If Yasha's happy, I'm happy. But it's their call."

Caleb finished the knot and began to run his hands through Molly's hair again. Molly leaned his head back a fraction further into Caleb's hands. Just enough that Caleb couldn't tell if it was intentional or subconscious.

He ignored it and went back to pulling at knots. As he found success with the knots, his movements grew less hesitant and more straightforward. "They'd work well together," Caleb said. "Beau's just a little rough around the edges. She'll grow out of it… Well, some of it… Probably."

Molly chuckled and Caleb could feel the vibrations. He ran a hand up the side of Molly's head, knuckles accidentally grazing the pointed tip of his ear.

Molly gave a contented sigh.

Caleb blinked, realizing now he'd been conned into giving Molly what was essentially a head massage. Weird day. Weird timeline.

In the distance, Beau decked a teenager.

"Fjord, that does look really really fun," Jester said, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

"Sure does. Why don't you ask Molly or Caleb to take you over there?" he said.

Jester rolled her eyes. "Because I actually want to _win_ , Fjord."

Molly opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it. "No, honestly that's fair."

"Why don't you carry one of them, then? I'm sure you're strong enough," Fjord said.

Jester frowned. "Uh, yeah, duh, of course I am, Fjord, but I want to be the one _punching_. Please please please please, it'll be super fun, I promise, and we'll definitely win."

"There's no shame in being a bottom, Fjord," Molly called with a cheeky grin.

Fjord scowled at him then looked to Jester. " I don't think—"

"Please please please please, Fjord, with a little red cherry on top?"

"You're not gonna let this go until I say yes, are you?"

"Nope!"

Fjord sighed. "Alright. One round and we're done. Understand?"

Jester cheered and the two of them left the pool to dress themselves.

"You two should come," Fjord called, pulling on his slacks.

Caleb shook his head. "I'm quite happy watching the rest of you make the local youth cry."

"Seconded," echoed Molly, shooting a grin at Caleb over his shoulder.

"Chickens!" Jester taunted as she and Fjord stepped back in. She stuck a teasing, forked tongue out at Molly as they passed, and Molly mirrored the gestured. They crossed the hot springs, and much to the despair of the local teens, joined Beau and Yasha.

"I know my idea of fun is a bit wider than most people's," Molly said, "But I can think of several much more enjoyable ways to get bruised that don't involve being punched by Beau or Jester," he said, shaking his head solemnly as another teen was felled.

Now it was Caleb's turn to chuckle. "You're not supposed to punch each other," he said, working the last of the knots out of Molly's hair. "We have overzealous friends." The soap dripped down his back, rolling over his sharp shoulder blades and partially obscuring his canvas of tattoos. He'd never seen Molly's backpiece this closely before, with all its multicolor intricate patterns and interlocking shapes. He could see where the work of one artist ended and another's began in the way the lines shifted weight and intensity. Like a story within a story. Caleb traced a line of stars down Molly's spin with a light knuckle.

Molly shivered.

"Sorry," Caleb said, suddenly very conscious of what his hands were doing. He scooted away, fighting down a flush. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. He had just done Molly requested of him. He'd do the same for any of the Mighty Nein. "Your hair's done," Caleb managed.

"Uh, yeah, much appreciated," Molly said, taken by surprise. He dunked his head underwater, rinsing the soap from his curls. When he rose, the dark strands clung to his jaw and trailed down his neck, covering part of an ornate moon tattoo. He leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head and shooting Caleb a fond smile.

Caleb averted his eyes and sunk a little lower in the water. That was a dangerous look.

Caleb cleared his throat. "You have a lot of moons and stars in your tattoos," he said, directing the conversation to a safer place. "Is that a reference to—?" He nodded towards the slice of moon hanging in the sky.

"The Moonweaver?" Molly asked, and Caleb nodded. Molly chewed on the question for a moment, bobbing his head from side to side as he thought. "Yes and no," he said at last. "I got them because I like them, but the connection is a nice bonus," he said.

Ah. That checked out.

"You're not religious, are you, Caleb?" Molly asked, glancing over to him.

"No."

"Fair enough."

Caleb felt compelled to elaborate. "They've...never done much for me."

Despite the ample opportunities in his life for divine intervention.

"Mmm," Molly hummed.

"Does she...ever visit you? Like Jester's god?" Caleb asked.

Molly shook his head. "No, not like that. She's—it's more of a hands-off relationship."

"And that's how you prefer it?" Caleb asked, arching a brow in surprise. He twisted to his side, angling his body towards Molly again. "You worship her and get nothing in return."

"Oh, I wouldn't say nothing. Peace of mind can be worth a hell of a lot some days," he said. "I'd rather let the gods have their fun and let us have ours." He looked to Jester in the distance. "Some all-powerful being giving out marching orders isn't exactly what I'm in the market for," he said, lips quirking downward at the thought.

Caleb frowned. "But you follow her, without ever having spoken to her. Or seeing her."

"Is that so hard to believe?"

Caleb shrugged, staring off at the moon hanging obstinately in the lilac sky. He didn't see the point of worshiping the gods himself. Power could be acquired in easier ways with fewer strings attached. And, at the end of the day,, he found the gods did very little to save their "favored" ones. The faithful died just like everyone else.

Quickly and with little fanfare.

"I don't believe in loving gods," Caleb said at last.

Molly looked from the moon to him with a wry smile. "I noticed."

"You never answered my question."

Molly rested his head back, jewelry clinking as he did. "Well, I mean it's not all transactional, is it?" he said at last. "Sometimes you do things for people because you want to. You're happy if they're happy."

On instinct Caleb glanced to Nott. She had amassed a pile of treasures now and sat cross-legged while counting them out of earshot. He wanted her to be happy. He needed to mend the tear between them before it worsened.

"You're right," Caleb, at last, murmured, still watching Nott.

"First time for everything."

Their discussion of the Moonweaver wound on as Caleb tried to comprehend what drew Molly to her. The purple sky faded to a tired blue as the moon crept ever upwards.

The conversation drew to a comfortable conclusion, forcing Caleb to then realize they'd gone from sitting three feet away to one. He suddenly became very aware of just how far he was leaning in and of how very undressed they were and how a strand of Molly's wet hair clung to his cheek, brushing the corner of smiling lips, and how gentle the dip of his cupid's bow was and how very deep those heavy-lidded red eyes could be.

"You have irises," Caleb blurted out.

Molly barked a laugh, looking at him with curious humor. "What was that?"

Caleb dragged his eyes away from that infinite cherry gaze, choosing instead to stare straight ahead. "Nothing—it was—"

"Because it sure sounded a hell of a lot like 'you have eyes' to me, which I've gotta say, Caleb, may be the nicest compliment I've ever gotten." The grin was thick in his voice. "Such a way with words."

"Irises, I said irises," Caleb corrected defensively. "The reds are so similar I didn't notice—" he made the mistake of looking back to Molly only to find himself on the receiving end of that overly-fond, sleepy grin again. "They're darker," Caleb forced himself to continue and meet his gaze. "More reflective…" Their burgundy depths captured the last fragments of the silvery twilight and held them in his eyes.

How could he have ever thought them uncanny?

Someone cleared their throat.

Caleb blinked, and finally noticed Beauregard standing several yards away, arms crossed with a raised skeptic eyebrow. "Uh, sorry to interrupt whatever… _this_ is, but I think we're about to get kicked out."

"Public nudity and punching children has consequences, can you believe it?" Molly asked, shaking his head in faux solemnity.

Beau opened her mouth to shoot back a retort, but Jester waded up before she could. "Hey what were you guys talking about?" she asked Caleb and Molly, eyes wide with interest. "It looked really serious," she added with a grin.

"Oh, wasn't it obvious?" Molly asked, matching her smile. "Caleb has just been regaling me with sweet nothings this whole time."

Caleb choked, and Molly shot him a wink.

"I knew it," Jester said with a gasp. "Fjord, I told you so!" she called to him as he and Yasha approached.

"Um, guys," called Nott, "I think it's time to skedaddle," she said, and scooped up her treasures, shoving them in her pockets. Along the side of the hot springs approached two burly dragonborn led by a red-faced teen with a bloody nose.

"You know for some reason this happens every time I get naked," Molly said, grinning as he jumped out of the water.

Caleb followed close behind, pushing the disturbing electric undercurrent of that last conversation to a mental backburner as the staff neared. He'd address _that_ recent development later.

The Mighty Nein exited the hot springs, throwing on their remaining clothes even as they already had a foot out the door. They wove through Ice Haven's snow-laden streets, wet hair freezing to their grinning faces.

Caleb's heart beat quick in his chest. It was from the shock of the cold, or the exertion of their hasty retreat.

Or at least that's what he told himself.

…

 _As fun as it would've been to see Mollymauk "10 strength" Tealeaf and Caleb "10 strength" Widogast join in the hot springs chicken fight, let's be real, Molly tops and there's no way Caleb could hold him for an extended period of time._

 _Commenters are the flannel sheets on my bed during winter, the raspberry fig bars on my lunch break, the reason I've been able to stay so passionate and enthusiastic about this story._


	11. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

**Chapter Eleven:**

 **No Good Deed Goes Unpunished**

 _"_ _Oh what a tangled web we weave,_

 _When first we practise to deceive!"_

 _…_

Molly was a flirt.

Caleb knew this. Probably half of the bartenders in Wildemount knew this.

Additionally, Mollymauk Tealeaf was attractive.

Caleb didn't really view that as his subjective preference, but more of a universal truth.

Molly objectively was attractive.

He had a symmetrical face, a charming smile, and an enticing demeanor that surpassed gender and convention, all punctuated by a perfect set of dimples.

Caleb may have been able to bend reality to his whims, but that still, apparently, didn't give him immunity to being flirted with by an attractive, available colleague. In all fairness though, it would fluster most people. It was a rational reaction.

And that was all there was to it.

Next up was the Nott situation.

Their frozen procession marched back from the hot springs to The Tipsy Seal, snow crunching under their boots. Red lanterns fought off the midnight blue dark.

Nott walked ahead with Jester, exchanging conversation he couldn't hear. It'd been several hours since their earlier fight, and all she'd done since was shoot him sad, wounded looks. He didn't know how many more of them he could bear.

Beau kicked the inn door open, and the party fell once again into the cozy glow of The Tipsy Seal. Patrons lingered around the bar where Valentine refilled tankards, and a violist sat near the large hearth in the back, filling the air with a lazy tune.

They collapsed into the seats around the corner table, and Nott wedged herself between Yasha and Jester, straight across from Caleb.

"Well that was...eventful," Fjord said.

"Hey that snot-nosed brat had it coming, alright?" Beau said with a frown, covering the dark bruise on her bicep.

"Caleb, any word from our friend?" Fjord asked.

"Not yet."

The conversation returned to their disastrous hot springs visit for several minutes until Caleb caught a flash of pink in his periphery.

Love bounded up to their table, apron tails whipping around behind her.

"Oh my gosh, Valentine told me everything," she said, dropping a platter of food on the table. The pale fished on it jumped as if alive before flopping back down, glassy eyes staring straight at Caleb.

"I mean that's so unlucky can you believe it? I mean if you guys had only been a couple hours earlier, just, wow," Love said, shaking her head. "So are you guys going to do it instead?" She asked, cocking her head with her tail swishing behind her.

The group looked to each other in uncertainty.

"It is a possibility," Caleb said at last, trying to sound as hesitant as the group looked.

"Oh, you should, you should!" Love said, eyes bright and bouncing on her heels, "That would be so much more fun than me just helping Lox. Oh, plus you'll get to go to the party and—"

A nearby table called out to her for drinks.

"Ah, we'll talk about this more in the morning," she promised and let her duties pull her away.

"So we're seriously considering this, huh?" Fjord said.

"I think it's a really good idea," Jester said, stabbing a bit of the fish with her fork.

"Because it's a good idea or because you want to go to a fancy party?" Fjord asked.

"Both," Jester said and took an experimental bite of the fish. "I mean, we are pretty sneaky after all."

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm running a little low on funds myself," Caleb said. The rest of the party grimaced as they thought of their own coin purses. "And we still have to pay for food, any more supplies we want to pick up," he started to list off.

"The boarding fee for the horses," Molly added.

"Boarding fee," Caleb repeated, "inn when we get back to Zadash, boarding the horses there, food, more supplies—"

"Okay, okay, we're poor again, got it, Caleb," Beau said, through a mouthful of fish.

"He's right though," Fjord said, "if we don't take the job we'll need to pick up work somewhere in Ice Haven to pay for the trip back."

"As much as I don't particularly like tangling with the Empire, I wanna see what our friend offers us for our services," Molly said with a grin. "After all he's in a pretty desperate position right now which gives us the bargaining power." He leaned back in his chair. "I'd do it for the right price."

The rest of the party hummed their agreement.

Caleb fought down the urge to convince them further, acutely aware it would only raise suspicion, so he volunteered to grab their drink order from the bar to distract himself.

"Caleb, wait up," Beau said, catching up with him.

"Is there a problem?" he asked as they reached the bar. The mob of patrons kept Valentine pinned at the other end.

"I mean, seven drinks is a lot for one person to carry," she said, rubbing the back of her neck and looking away.

A cheer erupted from the crowd, and they turned to see Love hopping over to stand next to the violist, a wooden flute in her hands. "Just one, just one," she called to the crowd as they cheered her on. She shared a look with the violist, who readied his bow. She brought the flute to her lips, blowing a single sonorous note that silenced the room. She shot the violist a mischievous grin as she inhaled a second time, then flew straight into a jaunty tavern tune, with runs and trills so quick her fingers danced over the keys in a blur and the violist struggled to keep pace. The crowd cheered once more, some of the drunker patrons trying and failing to clap in time.

"Sorry for the wait," Valentine said, coming over to them and wiping the sweat off his brow. "What can I get for you?"

"Your daughter's very talented," Beau said over the noise, nodding to Love.

"Daughter? Oh, no, Love's not my kid, I just work here," he said with an easy grin.

"Oh shit, sorry," Beau said, "I just thought? With the names? That this was like a family thing?"

Valentine shrugged. "The last bartender was named Dove, and I kinda thought if I didn't have a matchy-matchy name they wouldn't hire me."

"You changed your name just to get a job?" Beau asked.

"Yes?"

"That's kinda fucked up, man. They're not, like, forcing you to stay here or anything right? We don't need to rescue you or anything?"

"Nah, it's not too bad of a gig. Interesting people. Keeps me fed at least," he said with a shrug.

At the other end of the bar, a patron vomited on to the counter.

"Actually, yeah, rescue me right now," Valentine said, wincing. He sighed and wiped his thin hands off on his apron. "Before I handle that, what can I get for you guys?"

Valentine whipped up their assorted house malts and fruit ales, handing the tankards over before going to address the vomit problem. He put a hand out, extracting the mess from the counter with a clumsy Prestidigitation that made the air ripple.

After years of facing down powerful casters, and throwing around fire and lightning with ease, it was easy to forget the more mundane applications of magic. Most of the magically inclined never made it past cantrips, and only a handful in history ever made it to Caleb's level.

That was probably for the best.

"Caleb. Caleb. Caleb Widogast," Beau called, leaning back against the bar and watching him, drinks in hand.

"Sorry."

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you," she began, voice dropping so he had to strain to hear over the music. "Is everything alright with you and Nott? You didn't say anything shitty to her, did you?"

Caleb grimaced. "I—why do you think that?"

Beau shot him a cut-the-bullshit scowl. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because usually we have to _unpeel_ her from you? But she's been avoiding you for, like, eight hours at this point?"

Six and a half.

"It's…being dealt with," Caleb said at last with an air of finality. And he was going to deal with it. He didn't know how, and he didn't know what he was going to say, but it was going to be dealt with. Hopefully.

Beau looked unimpressed. "I'm not gonna ask what you did, but whatever it was, Caleb, fix it." With a last, dissatisfied look at him, she turned to head back towards the table.

He grabbed the last of the tankards and fell in stride with her. "Thank you, Beauregard."

She blinked in surprise. "Uh, yeah?"

"For looking out for her," he said, looking ahead to where Nott chatted with Jester, back to them. "She deserves…" the words caught in his throat, "…more."

She gave a small, crooked smile at that, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "Just be there for her, dumbass."

"Yeah."

They returned to the table to find several platters of food had arrived and been nearly devoured in their absence and the rest of the party was in a heated debate as to whether they were kicked out of the hot springs for violence or nudity.

Caleb passed around the ale and whiskey, settling back into his chair and keeping one of the weaker drinks to himself. As much as he wanted to lose himself in something strong, he needed to keep his head on his shoulders tonight—especially for his talk with Nott.

The fruit ale tasted bitter at first, but the deeper he got into his tankard the sweeter it became, leaving a cherry aftertaste and sending a tingling warmth to his thawing fingers and toes.

Their debate wound on as patrons filtered around them, filling the air with the roar of laughter and conversation in foreign tongues with the reckless music rising above it all.

Love ended the current tune with a final run, and the violist caught up a beat later. Love snickered, bending over to whisper something to the violist, who looked relieved. She brought her flute back up, looking to the violist, and with a simultaneous nod they began together this time. The melody jumped to life and a cheer passed through the crowd. More patrons attempted to clap along, and a particularly rambunctious band of half-elves started pushing tables out of the way to clear a space while Valentine watched them with dismay.

Molly slammed his drink down and pointed at Jester. "You owe me a dance."

In a moment the tieflings were on their feet, weaving through the tables then spinning out on the impromptu dancefloor in a flourish of colorful fabric.

The half-elves cheered at the newcomers, welcoming them in their midst. The half-elves and other Ice Haven natives fell into a fast dance Caleb didn't recognize, full of spinning and bouncing, and the crowd drew thick around them.

The remaining Mighty Nein pushed out of their chairs, and Yasha plowed them a path to the front. The sound of Jester and Molly's laughter bubbled above the music and noise. Around Yasha's thick arm, Caleb could see the tieflings along with several other tourists, trapped in the middle of the dance, stumbling around but having the time of their lives doing so. The music keened, and their jewelry flashed in the firelight.

Jester spun Molly too vigorously, sending him stumbling through the native dancers and almost colliding with Yasha. Laughing, he took the opportunity to drag her out onto the floor where they fell into a familiar, practiced routine.

At Jester's encouragement, Nott darted out onto the floor and into Jester's arms. They spun together, not a drop of rhythm between them as they tried to navigate the height difference. He could hear the sound of Nott's laughter muffled by her mask. He owed these people so much for being so good to her.

Before he could ruminate further on debts he could never repay, Jester returned for her next victim. She grabbed at Beau, who shook her head and sunk back further into the crowd, so she turned her bright violet eyes on Caleb.

He let himself be extracted from the mob, taste of cherries still warm in his mouth, and joined Jester in her improvised dance. Her skirts whipped around them, long sleeves smacking into Yasha and Nott as they twirled by, and he couldn't keep the grin off his face. Jester said something to him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye, but the music drowned out her words. Before he could speak, Jester spun him out of her arms and across the floor. He passed a wide-eyed Fjord in the same predicament before colliding with Molly, sending the two of them stumbling back several steps.

Caleb grabbed on to Molly's upper arms to steady them both. And before Caleb could mutter his apologies, Molly shifted, resting a hand on Caleb's side and lacing the other through Caleb's own with an eyebrow raised in question. Caleb mirrored the posture, blinking away his daze. He could feel Molly's rings, cool between his fingers, as they started to spin.

"Something the matter?" Molly asked over the noise, smiling too innocently. The alcohol dyed his cheeks and nose a faint fuchsia.

"No," Caleb said, falling in time with Molly. He let him lead, finding it so much easier to focus on the rainbow vision before him than the unpredictable, syncopated rhythm. He focused on keeping his footing, on the familiar golden pendant bouncing against Molly's scarred chest, the wet curls peaking around his pointed ears, and the light hot press of his hands against Caleb's own tunic.

They spun apart then back together, continuing the dance. Mollymauk regarded him with an expression Caleb couldn't place—something between humor and confusion. Caleb took the lapse in Molly's concentration to twirl him around.

"Something the matter?" Caleb asked as they returned to their original position.

The music swelled. A thrown tankard knocked the chandelier—sending it spending and illuminating the frantic blur of bodies around them.

"Quite the opposite," Molly said with a slow smile that Caleb couldn't help returning a shadow of.

More and more couples flooded the floor, pushing them closer and closer out of necessity until the foot of space between their chests became eight inches, then six, then four. Molly's hand slid from Caleb's side to between his shoulder blades. His glossy horns caught the light of the hearth in their ridges. He smelled like lavender and whiskey.

Caleb lost the resolve to meet his gaze, hyperaware of the shrinking distance between them.

A thought bubbled up from his twisting gut:

 _In another life…_

Safe in its resignation but treacherous for the fledgling desire it labelled.

The melody crescendoed to a close—letting the musicians regain their bearing for a moment.

"Thank you for indulging me," Molly said with a little laugh as they untangled from each other.

Cold sank into Caleb in the vacuum of space where Molly once was, and he fought back a shiver. "Uh, yeah, yeah anytime," he said, looking around to regain his bearings on the chaotic inn.

"Promises, promises, promises. Be careful or I might just take you up on that," he said then turned his head. "I think Nott headed towards the bar if that's who you're looking for."

Caleb thanked him and escaped the dancefloor before the next song could start. He wove through the crowd, eyes down, trying to swallow his misgivings.

Molly was attractive, yes, but he was attracted _to_ him, which was several degrees worse. This was fine. He'd had these fleeting attractions before, and his ambitions won out every time. This didn't change anything. It might make that final break worse, but after all he'd done to these people he deserved every ounce of pain that last separation caused him.

In his distraction, he walked into Nott, sending her stumbling back, almost spilling the brimming tankards in either hand.

He sighed in relief. Suddenly the conversation with Nott had become the lesser of two evils.

"Sorry, are you alright?" he asked, steadying her.

"Caleb, I—I got this for you," she said, reigning in the sad expression on her face to offer up one of the tankards.

"Ah, thank you," he said. He hadn't intended on drinking more, but he didn't dare reject her.

"Can we—I think we need to talk," she said, rewording it to be more resolute.

"Ya, I think you're right."

They left the loud belly of the inn for their room where Caleb sat on the bed, tankard clasped in both hands.

Laughter and muted music leaked up through the floorboards. Frost covered the dark window, lit by the subtle red glow of the street below. Frumpkin curled up by the smoldering hearth, watching them through a cracked amber eye. Caleb took another swing of the fruit ale, glad now to be having this conversation buzzed.

"Sooo," Nott began, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "How's your day been?"

Caleb chuckled. "Oh you know, full of ups and downs. But that's the usual for us."

"Cool coooool," she said bobbing her head. She quirked her mouth as if chewing on a thought, so Caleb took the opportunity to speak instead.

"Nott, I—I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I just—"

 _'_ _Forget the Sharkfin Syndicate. Complete the mission and I'll double the payment.'_

Caleb froze, eyes going wide.

"Caleb?" Nott asked.

"It's the Gentleman," he said and pushed himself up to step towards the door. "We have to get everyone."

"Caleb, I don't—" Nott started as she came up beside him, grabbing a hold of his sleeve.

"I promise—I _promise_ you, Nott, we will have this conversation. Tonight. But he'll need an answer," he said earnestly.

"Okay," she said, releasing his sleeve with a conflicted look. "Let's…go get them."

Caleb focused on the fading magical link. _'We'll do it.'_

…

"What did he say to you, what did he say to you?" Jester asked, tail flicking in curiosity. All seven tipsy members of the Mighty Nein had gathered in Caleb and Nott's room and settled against the walls.

"Double," Caleb said.

Fjord whistled. "Twenty-thousand gold is…a lot of money."

"Split seven ways," Molly reminded him.

"About three-thousand each," Caleb said.

"Shit." Fjord rubbed his temples, jaw slack in amazement. "That's, like, halfway to a decent house."

"Or a more than decent house if we go in together," Molly added with a grin.

"But we get jack shit if we're dead," Beau said dryly, picking at her nails.

Caleb worked to keep the frown off his face, swirling the remaining liquor in his tankard.

"Did he say anything about the Sharkfin Syndicate?" Fjord asked.

Caleb nodded. "He said if we frame them for it, he'll destroy the blood he has on us." The lie tasted hot on his tongue, but he schooled his face and tone for an even delivery.

"Now that I like," Molly said.

Caleb hummed in agreement, and took another swig from the flagon.

Nott studied him from across the circle, cat-like pupils dilated in the low light.

Caleb raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a look of casual question. The ale burned on its way down.

"So let me get this straight," Beau said. "We're going to drug the biggest drug dealer in the Empire, take her blood, then rob her. Just making sure we're all on the same page."

"Well when you say it like that is sounds really bad," Jester said with a frown.

Caleb cleared his throat. "I never took you for one who'd pass up the opportunity to mess around with authority, Beauregard," he said, keeping the challenge light in his voice.

She scowled at him.

"Beau does raise a good point," Fjord said. "The consequences of failure on this one—"

"Would be the same," Caleb interjected, "as if we were caught murdering the High-Richter. But we did that."

"Ulog did that," Beau corrected.

"We aren't murdering the Countess though. We just need a little bit of blood is all," Jester said.

"And we need the money," Caleb said, sipping at his flagon to help conceal the tension in his jaw. The alcohol simmering in his stomach mixed with his anxiety and frustration for a nauseating cocktail. A budding headache pounded at his temples.

Beau clenched her fists. "Sure we're cash-strapped, but there are other ways to—"

"I already told him we'd do it," Caleb said shortly.

"Shit Caleb, why would you—" Beau started, but he cut her off, alcohol buzzing in his brain.

"Because we're broke in a foreign city with no other prospects, no supplies, no diamonds, no—"

"What the hell do diamonds have to do with any of this, Caleb?" Beau asked, throwing her hands up in question.

The energy from the anger, panic, and drink turned his body into a live wire. His hands were shaking as he stepped forward, and his mouth moved faster than his thoughts. "Because they are common spell components Beauregard," he said, articulating every syllable like an insult. "Chromatic Orb, Nondetection, Resurrection, Sto—"

She stepped into his space with a snarl. "Who do we need to fucking resurrect, Ca—?"

"Well we can't now, Beauregard," he shouted, throwing his hands up and spinning around, fists white with tension. They'd had this argument a thousand times. "His body is too decayed and our clerics keep dying before they learn that spell!"

"Caleb, what the actual fuck are you talking about, man? Can you even hear yourself?" Beau grabbed his shoulder, but he yanked himself free.

He stumbled back, catching himself on the window sill while the room spun. His brain was on fire. This Beau was twenty-three, not forty. He'd said too much.

Jester rushed forward, laying her hands on his upper arm to steady him. "Maybe we need to get you to bed. Maybe we all need to go to bed. We can talk about this in the morning," she said, casting Fjord a worried look.

"No," said a voice, barely above a whisper.

Caleb dragged his eyes across the floor to meet Nott's unblinking gaze. Her face was pale.

"Repeat—repeat what you said, Caleb," she said quietly.

Caleb ran a sweaty hand through his hair with a sigh. "Nothing, it was—" the words caught in his throat. He cleared it, starting again, "I'm just—" his throat closed. He gagged, clutching at his throat and stumbling forward.

"Caleb," Jester cried, leaning in to support his weight.

His throat relaxed, and he gasped for air, taking in shaking breathes.

His mouth tasted like cherries.

He froze, eyes dropping down to the now-empty tankard in his shaking hand, then drifting slowly up to Nott.

His grip slackened, letting the tankard fall to the ground with a loud thud. The only sound in the room beside the muffled laughter and music leaking in from below. It rolled across the floor, leaving a line of golden liquid between him and Nott.

The moment shattered into a thousand glittering, razor-sharp pieces.

"What did you put in my drink, Nott?" he murmured, voice rough from choking.

Nott took a step forward, eyebrows pressed together in concern before she stopped herself. "There was no other way. You wouldn't tell me what was wrong, so I—"

"Woah, woah, woah, what's this about?" Fjord asked, stepping in the middle.

"He has to tell the truth," Nott said softly, never breaking eye contact with Caleb.

All eyes turned on him.

Cold panic twisted his insides while his mind raced. He couldn't do this. In a motion, he stepped out of Jester's grasp and buried his hand in his component pouch. Hands darted forward to stop him, but he found the caterpillar cocoon and crushed it, mumbling the incantation before they could stop him.

Magic slammed into his frame, pulling him down and in. The room grew larger in a blur as he shrunk, and his bones warped and fused. Feathers exploded from his skin and he beat his new wings, catching the air and soaring high out of his friends' reach.

"Since when could he transform into a bird?" Beau shouted. She jumped up to grab for him but he dodged, tilting away. His bird heart beat so frantically in his chest it shook his entire frame.

"I don't think that's the real Caleb," Jester called as Yasha grabbed for him.

He swooped out of her reach and took a nose-dive towards the cracked door. Out. Out. He just needed out.

"Reveal yourself!" Jester commanded, letting her magic jettison through the air and collide with his brittle frame. Like a pack of wolves, the spell ripped the shreds of magic from him, dispelling his polymorph.

His form reverted, and he plummeted to the ground, landing on Yasha. They collapsed to the floor, and before Caleb could untangle himself from her, her thick arms wrapped around him like iron bars and pinned his arms to his body.

His chest heaved, and he dragged his gaze up to find the rest of the party looking at him with wide eyes, hands on their weapons.

Beau edged forward, placing the end of her staff under his jaw, pressing down on his trachea. "You only get to talk when I say, got it?" she asked. A bead of sweat rolled down her brow.

He gave a slight nod.

"Nott, what were you saying a second ago?" Beau asked, keeping her eyes locked on Caleb's.

"He has to tell the truth. I—I put something in his drink," she said, watching Caleb.

"Who are you? What's your name?" Beau asked, still digging her staff into his trachea.

"Caleb Widogast," he managed.

She lowered her staff. "How long have you been able to turn into a bird?" she asked, eyes still narrowed.

The truth pushed at his lips, but he kept his jaw clenched, holding the secret between his teeth.

"What were you saying about dead clerics," she demanded.

He squared his jaw, looking away. Damp bangs fell in front of his eyes and a line of sweat rolled down his neck. Between the legs of his friends, he could see Frumpkin across the room watching him with lazy eyes.

"Jester?" Beau asked.

"I can try and force him to talk maybe? With Charm Person?" Jester said, hand on her chin as she looked to Beau then Fjord with worry.

Fuck.

Caleb's heart faltered. He looked to his friends with wide eyes, trying to swallow the suffocating panic sparking through his veins like an electric shock. He couldn't do that. Wouldn't let his secrets be dragged from him smiling. Cheerily telling Jester she died. How he was sacrificing them for his family. _That_ was the worst version of this timeline.

"Fifteen years," he rasped.

"Bullshit," Beau said. "Jester, make him—"

"I'll talk," he said, closing his eyes in resignation. His limbs felt heavy and numb as the fight left his body. If this was going to happen, it would be on his own terms.

The group looked skeptical and Beau opened her mouth to urge Jester to continue casting the spell.

"Fifteen years. I've been able to transform into a bird for fifteen years," he said.

"Why haven't you done it before then?" Beau asked.

"I didn't know how then."

Beau growled. "Nott, I don't think—"

"I'm from the future," he said, letting the awful truth at last hang in the air between them. Instead of relief, it felt like there was a gaping cavern inside him where the truth—the truth he kept warm and hidden—had been ripped out. He was cold and hollow.

Always a man defined by absence.

The Mighty Nein looked at him with wide eyes, a mix of confusion and skepticism playing on their faces.

"You're delusional," Beau said. "Time travel isn't possible."

Caleb gave a mirthless laugh.

Beau looked to Nott, hands still on her staff.

"He's telling the truth," Nott murmured, staring into empty space with wide eyes. Shell-shocked.

Beau frowned and turned the weight of her gaze back on Caleb. "Prove it."

He met her suspicion, face slack in defeat. "Your name is Beauregard Lionett. Your parents are Florimond and Catherine. They wanted a boy so they—"

"How do you know that?" she hissed eyes wide with an edge of panic creeping into her voice. "Caleb, how the fuck do you know that, I swear to god—"

"You told me," he said. It had been on a watch shift deep into the night. He remembered how the grass swayed all those years ago. "Ask me anything about any of you," he said, raising his voice to address the entire group.

They looked at him with guarded suspicion.

"I know about your pasts," his eyes flicked to Fjord's, "your powers," he looked to Yasha, "your families," he looked to Beau. "I know because you told me. Would've told me. So please," he sighed, the last dregs of his energy fleeing his body, "ask your questions or be done with me."

Nott stepped forward, sinking to her knees before and cupping his face in her small, calloused hands.

"Nott," Beau said in warning.

She ignored her, golden eyes scanned his face, searching for something. "Since Hupperdook?" she asked in a whisper.

"The night before the Iron Shepherds," he breathed.

A wounded look passed Nott's face, and she withdrew her shaking hand. "That spell…with Lorenzo…"

"Yeah."

"Shit," said Beau. Her grip on her staff went slack as she processed.

"So…are you telling us there's a second Caleb running around somewhere?" Molly asked, confusion plain on his face. It felt like their dance happened eons ago, in a memory, a golden dream, hazy at the seams and free from the jagged edges of his current reality tearing him to shreds.

Caleb shook his head. "No, he is—we are the same." The last chapter of a book ripped out and sewn with clumsy hands back in the middle.

"Wait, so this is serious," Fjord said, running a hand through his hair and still blinking away the shock. "Nott, are you sure you spiked his drink with truth serum and not something else? Because this is all so…" he left out a huff of air, trying and failing to put a label on the situation.

She withdrew a glass vial that glinted in the cold light, casting Caleb a pained look before handing it to Fjord.

Caleb fought down a hollow chuckle as he recognized the vial from the alchemy shop that morning. He'd helped pay for it.

Fjord ran a thumb over the label, shaking his head. "Shit."

"Hey Caleb, how far in the future are you from?" Jester asked as she flopped down before him, lacey skirts splaying out around her on the floorboards. "You kinda act like a grumpy old man, so I bet it's really really far." She watched him with wide, curious eyes, the edge of excitement playing on her face.

Of course, she'd take this in stride.

Fjord came up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her a gentle squeeze. "Jester," he said quietly, but with an undercurrent of warning.

"Sixteen years," Caleb said.

"What is it like?" she asked, resting her head on her hands, tail swaying in interest. "I bet we're all super strong and super powerful."

"You ar—" the lie caught in his throat, sending him into another coughing fit.

He looked up, watching the gears turn behind Nott's eyes.

"The future was shitty," he whispered. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the decade of terrible memories flooding through his head at the thought.

"Is that why you came back?" Jester asked, voice gentle.

"Y—" he felt his throat start to close again, so he paused, trying to reorganize his thoughts into a more complete truth that still didn't lay him bare. "I came back to save people."

A murmur passed through the Mighty Nein, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his head to see their reactions. He traced a knot in the floorboards with his eyes, following the patternless grain.

Claws clicked against the wood as Nott stepped forward. "Us?"

The word rose to the top of his throat like bile, acidic and burning, but he clenched his jaw.

The silence was admission enough.

He looked up through his dark bangs only to watch understanding dawn on Nott's face, followed by an intense pity. She stepped forward, again reaching out a hand to touch his face.

He turned away. He didn't want compassion from the people he'd damned. It was more than his fractured soul could bear.

Nott gave a little gasp, hand freezing in the air for a moment before she slowly withdrew it and held it close to her chest.

"You're not done yet," Beau stated at the realization hit her. "You're still trying to go back. That's why you're so hung up on getting gold, it's because you want to save your—"

Caleb lunged forward, but Yasha's arms held him tight. That final truth must remain unsaid.

Beau sighed and leaned into her staff, weariness passing over her so for a brief flicker she resembled her older self, hardened by the weight of responsibility and continual loss. "God damn it, Caleb," she murmured running a hand over her face.

"Does that mean you wouldn't be at the inn to meet with us, Caleb?" Jester asked, ears drooping and head tilting to the side. "In Trostenwald?"

"I-I don't know," he admitted. It was unlikely. So many moving parts, and he witnessed firsthand how easily a simple change could throw the entire timeline awry.

"Nott would still be in jail," Yasha murmured.

"And if I'm being honest, I'm not sure if we could've beaten the nergaliid without them," Molly said. "And most certainly not the manticore."

"Gnolls, bandits, the big spider," Fjord listed off, face darkening as he went, "the entire Victory Pit tournament, merrows, the troll, the mechanical death trap in Hupperdook, the Iron Shepherds…"

He watched their faces change as they continued to work out the butterfly effect. Confusion and then disgust. They were finally realizing how grotesque he really was. The inevitable grand unmasking of Caleb Widogast.

"You're leaving me?" Nott asked in a trembling whisper that shot him through the heart.

He watched her heart break on her face, and he felt his falling apart in tandem—jagged shards falling into his gut and turning into guilt. He couldn't answer her.

"Caleb, you promised. You said we were in this together." Her voiced hitched. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Instinctively a lie rose to his lips, but his throat closed around it.

She stepped back, stunned.

He couldn't do this. Not again. The first time they did this it almost broke his will to follow through. He couldn't give up now. Not when he was so close.

"You said we were in this together," she repeated louder. She stepped forward, grabbing him by his lapels. "You were going to—we were…" she broke off, sniffling back her tears with a snarl, and released him.

Caleb shifted in Yasha's grasp. With his hands pinned and his component pouch inaccessible, most of his magic was impossible. But he had to do something. Every sentence stripped a piece of him away.

"All this time you were just _using_ me?" she asked in a whisper, tears brimming at the edges of her wide golden eyes that begged him to tell her she was wrong. That she misunderstood. That he hadn't taken advantage of her friendship and affections for years with the intention to leave her rotting in the jail he found her.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't do this.

He mumbled an incantation—one of the few that didn't require his hands or his components—and vanished. The force of the spell kicked the air from his lungs, and he collapsed onto his knees on the snow-covered roof across the street. The ice crunched beneath his feet as he rose onto shaky legs. He could hear the muffled commotion his disappearance had caused.

Muscled arms threw the window open. "Caleb, get back here, you motherfucker!" Beau shouted. The surrounding snow absorbed her voice, making her sound odd and distant.

In a flash of steam, Molly appeared beside him, Summer's Dance glinting in the moonlight. "Caleb, you can't run from this. We need to talk," he said, holding his free hand out as if talking to a wild animal. "Just come back inside and—"

Caleb shoved his hand in his component pouch and Molly dove forward. He found the cocoon just as Molly reached to grab him and let the magic consume him. It burned his human body away and left a swallow in its place. He dodged Molly's grasp and pumped his wings to put distance between them. He spiraled upwards and upwards into the black night air, wings cutting through the cold, until the lone figure on the rooftop disappeared.

Oh god, what had he done?

…

 _Truth Serum (ingested) - A creature subjected to this poison must succeed on a DC 11 Constitution saving throw or become poisoned for 1 hour. The poisoned creature can't knowingly speak a lie, as if under the effect of a zone of truth spell._

 _Ingested. A creature must swallow an entire dose of ingested poison to suffer its effects._

So the bad news is that this was kinda a cliffhanger, the good news is that this chapter was getting way too long and I had to cut it up, so half of the next has already been written? And should be dropping sooner rather than later?


	12. The Opportunity Cost

**Chapter Twelve:**

 **The Opportunity Cost**

 _…_

1,000 heartbeats per minute. Nearly 17 every second. The first time he transformed into a bird he thought he was dying. Even after a decade of practice he hated the way his heart surged forward, beats blending together into a fevered hum that even the screaming wind couldn't drown out. He felt like he was about to shatter.

The squalls yanked his half-ounce frame through the night, and he didn't have the strength or presence of mind to resist.

Cold, sharp, push, pull. He lost himself in the oblivion of sensation—mind full of white noise.

Ice Haven's jumbled buildings passed beneath him in a swirl of black, the occasional red lantern slicing through the winter gloom.

He let the winds have their way with him until his wings ached with the strain. It would be so easy. Stop fighting. Fall from the air like a stone. Collide with the unforgiving ice below. Despite his magical prowess, that drop would be enough.

But he could never stop fighting. His goal was all he had now. The exclusive reason for his miserable, sniveling excuse of an existence.

A line of dark smoke blocked the stars, and he broke from the gale to follow it down to the chimney it sprang from. His momentum carried him into a clumsy landing on the chimney's edge. Lazy snow floated down, adding to the suffocating blanket already choking the landscape. Thick smoke from the chimney behind him warmed his back, beginning to thaw his frozen toothpick bones.

Images of Nott played on repeat in his brain. He watched the betrayal flood across her face over and over again. He wanted to run to her, sink to his knees, and beg for the forgiveness he didn't deserve. He wanted to sit in the cold until he died, frozen solid, finally free of this awful burden of choice. He wanted—he wanted—

His grasp on Polymorph slipped away, and he popped back to his normal size. He teetered on the edge of the chimney for a moment before gravity yanked him forward. He tumbled off the roof and his coat snagged on the gutter, nearly dislocating his arm before the sleeve ripped and he fell face first into a pile of snow.

Groaning, he pushed himself up. His nose stung from the impact, and he ran the back of his hand across it, streaking his hand wraps with blood. The underside of his sleeve was torn from the bottom of his palm nearly to the crook of his elbow, flashing a line of pale flesh and letting the ravenous cold sink into his bones. This night kept getting better and better.

The street was still and quiet, save for the slow snowfall. His wished it was noon so he could lose himself in the noise and the crowd from earlier. Anything would be better than this deafening silence, trapping him alone with his thoughts.

Dripping blood on the snow, Caleb took a step forward, then another. The snow crunched beneath his feet. Now that he was human again, every beat of his heart seemed slow and labored—like every pump might be its last.

He trudged his way through Ice Haven's maze of streets and alleys on autopilot, fingers going blue and numb. Exhaustion weighed on him like a haze as the last vestiges of Nott's poison left his system.

What was he going to do? He was a stranger to this time. No home, no family, and now no friends. The only resources he had was his magic—that he'd already burned through half of—and pockets full of money he wasn't allowed to spend. He was trapped in a foreign city in a hostile timeline, completely, utterly, alone.

This was inevitable.

He deserved it.

His doubt thundered so loudly in his brain that he didn't hear the crunch of approaching footsteps until dark hands darted out from behind him and looped a wire around his neck.

The assailant threw their weight back, wire cutting into Caleb's neck. Caleb dug in his heels and threw himself backward with the assailant where they collapsed in a pile of tangled limbs.

Familiar adrenaline reanimated his weary frame, and he elbowed the attacker behind him—bone meeting bone. There was a cry of pain and two more bodies materialized in front of him. He shoved his other hand up between his neck and the wire to keep it from choking him, but rough hands yanked him up before he could free himself from it. Just because he wanted to die didn't mean he'd let himself be killed. Not by a long shot.

"Hey—you—!" shouted a gruff voice.

Caleb spat an incantation and disappeared from the throng of assailants. He appeared in an explosion of mist thirty feet away and rounded on his attackers. There were six of them, all in dirty, dark clothing with daggers bared. At the forefront stood a human man with dark, scarred skin and a flash of blond hair pulled back into chaotic braids. The leader twirled his short sword and took a step forward.

"Now, let's not make things harder than they have to be," he said in a deep baritone that cut the winter's silence.

"Sharkfin Syndicate?" Caleb asked while inching a hand towards his component pouch.

"Gentleman's Troupe?" the man asked back with a raised eyebrow.

Caleb didn't answer—mind cycling through his spells for something useful. So much of his magical repertoire was designed to support the abilities of others or cause massive, indiscriminate damage that would surely endanger the sleeping civilians around them.

"I'll take that as a yes," the man said with a casual shrug. "Now, you seem like a reasonable man," he said, using his sword to emphasize his gestures. "So what I need from you is to scurry on back to Zadash with your little friends, and deliver a message for me. You tell The Gentleman he's not welcome in Ice Haven, understand?"

Caleb squared his jaw, eyes narrowing. "I don't like bullies." His fingers inched into his component pouch.

The man chuckled. "You're in the wrong city then." He pulled out another short sword from his cloak. The blades flashed red in the lantern light. "Now, be a good boy and relay my message or you will _become_ my message."

"Yeah? And who is speaking?" Caleb asked.

The man grinned, revealing a set of bleached teeth filed into wicked points. "Alexi Vetrov of the Sharkfin Syndicate."

Caleb's fingers wrapped around a bit of honeycomb. "Well, Mr. Vetrov, I _suggest_ ," magic bubbled up, lacing his words with thick compulsion, "that we part ways here, and that you and your friends avoid us for the next ten days."

The magic washed over them, giving all six people pause for a moment.

Alexi blinked then looked to Caleb with his head cocked so his blond braids tumbled over his shoulder. A razor grin spread across his face. "Well, that just won't do, will it?" In a blur, he hurled a dagger end-over-end at Caleb.

Caleb shielded his face with his arm, projecting a crackling dome of energy before him. The dagger bounced off his shield with a reverberating 'thwung'.

"Slap 'em out of it!" Alexi shouted back to his crew—several of which were still enthralled. One cursed and elbowed his charmed companion in the ribs while another scrambled to load her crossbow.

Caleb dropped his arm to launch a set of fire bolts at the attackers with his Glove of Blasting. They sailed through the air with a hiss. The first missed Alexi but the other two barreled into their targets and sent them reeling as the women with the crossbow returned fire.

Caleb reached for his shielding magic again, but the bolt ripped past him before he could summon it, tearing the top of his bicep and embedding itself in the wall behind him. He stumbled back with a hiss of pain.

Alexi sprinted towards him and tossed another dagger that spun past his head, an inch away from taking off his ear. Two more attackers crept around the side to flank him while the crossbow-wielding woman kept him pinned from the front.

Steadying himself, he faced down Alexi with a snarl. It seemed this was going to be a bad day for both of them.

He grabbed a handful of dust from his pouch, throwing it in the air and spitting out the familiar incantation. A jet of green lighting sparked from his pointed finger at Alexi's head. Alexi slid out of the way, lighting jetting past his temple and striking the wall behind him with a loud crackle. The fevered electricity sunk deep into the wall, filling the air with black smoke and a keening hiss.

Shit.

Alexi dove out of the way, and as Caleb took a step back the wall disintegrated into ash and spilled down on them. Caleb threw his hands in the air and released an explosion of force as the flood of ash tried to knock him off his feet. The caving roof paused, frozen mid-destruction.

He held his arms aloft, hands white with tension as he strained to keep the roof suspended. People screamed. Lanterns in windows sprung to life. A child wailed from inside the collapsing building.

The bandits scrambled together around Alexi, who looked between Caleb and the nearest alleyway. With a glint in his eye, Alexi squared his jaw and stalked towards Caleb, short swords raised.

For a fraction of a moment Caleb looked around wide-eyed for Beauregard or Yasha or Nott or anyone. His concentration slipped as he realized his mistake, and the roof lurched forward before he caught it again. Sweat streamed down his back. Alexi reached him, arm reared back for a swing. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Keeping one hand suspendered above him he jerked the other down, palm facing Alexi's chest. The roof slid forward, Alexi's sword arced downward, and four crackling beams of energy shot out of Caleb's open hand—nailing Alexi in the chest and sending him flying backward into a snowbank as the roof groaned.

He threw his other hand up and caught the roof again as two gnomes burst out the door, one carrying a two-year-old close to his chest. Neighboring doors began to open, and angry shouts filled the air.

Alexi's cronies helped him out of the snow, and he shot Caleb a withering glare before the band retreated into the shadows of the alley.

Shit, they were escaping. He needed to stop them. What if they went for the Mighty Nein next? He needed to try Mass Suggestion again and—

"There's a mage attacking the house!"

Goddammit.

"I'm holding it!" he shouted through gritted teeth as two more people exited the collapsing house.

The first of the gnomes, the one holding the screaming child, came up to him, screaming angrily in some language he didn't recognize. The roof slipped another foot.

Rough hands grabbed at him and someone elbowed him in the stomach. He doubled over, spell slipping out of his grasp. With a deafening crash, the house imploded on itself.

The gathering crowd of concerned neighbors screamed, and Caleb's captors loosened their grip in the shock. With a murmured incantation, he vanished from the chaos and reappeared in the distance down the street.

He couldn't afford to deal with the law right now.

With a clumsy Disguise Self, he stumbled away from the scene of the accident. His hands shook. The shock and the cold leeched the sensation from him. Numb, numb, always numb. His mouth tasted like blood.

How was it that every opportunity he had rotted under his touch? Every plan he made turned to ash and scattered to the winds?

If he couldn't even hold off some third-class bandits without bringing a house down—there were probably still people in there—he should've done something more—anything—!

But he couldn't go back and find out. Couldn't try and explain to the law master he was the victim here. Couldn't stand trial for murder all while the clock ticked on.

The mission. The mission. He had to focus on the mission. Everything else was just too much.

Like a sleepwalker he shambled through Ice Haven, mindlessly following the directions his brain provided.

He still needed diamonds. He needed diamonds before the month was up or he'd have to redo his calculations—a process that, without his old study, without his old tomes to reference, could take years with no promise of accuracy.

Across the city at the edge of the crater, looming over it in a blackened silhouette like a gargoyle, waited the Countess's palace. Without the threat of anti-magic wards, he could slip in unseen and take the diamonds himself or bewitch a servant to do it for him. But the wards could be linked to some dispelling enchantment, or worse, an alarm.

He needed help.

He needed them.

His encounter with the Syndicate proved that.

They wouldn't accept him back. Why would they? This wasn't the Mighty Nein he'd left—family forged in fire and a decade's worth of shared trauma. These people were practically strangers. They'd known each other for what—two months? They had hundreds of reasons to spurn him after all he'd done and all he would do.

But he needed them.

And he didn't have anything else to return to.

The falling snow petered out, leaving the night thick and still. Silent, save for the crunching of his boots as he waded through the snow and the sound of his labored breathing.

His encounter with the Syndicate had proved one other thing: his friends weren't safe in Ice Haven. He'd escaped the encounter—not as easily as he would've liked—but he did. If they managed to catch a different member of the Mighty Nein, alone and off guard, he doubted they'd stand much of a chance. From the conversation with Alexi, it was likely the Sharkfin Syndicate would wait and watch for another opportunity to send their "message".

He glanced at the maw of the nearest alley, trying to pierce the murky shadows and watch for movement. They could still be following him, especially if they'd seen him cast Disguise Self.

The Mighty Nein needed to know. He had to warn them, so no one else would make the dumbass decision of walking through Ice Haven alone in the middle of the night. Historically they had a bad habit of splitting up. It never ended well.

His vow from hours earlier echoed through his head: no harm would befall the Mighty Nein while he still lingered with them.

Caleb clenched his numb fists. The events of this evening hadn't changed anything. He still needed diamonds, and he would still try to protect his friends while he pursued that goal. Hypocrisy be damned.

Carried by this burst of resolution, in twenty minutes time he found himself alone on an empty street, nearly hypothermic, covered in his own blood, and standing before The Tipsy Seal.

The inn towered above him, big and black and so much larger than it had been hours ago. He felt his resolve start to whither as he thought about seeing his friends face-to-face again. What was he going to say to them? Maybe he'd smooth things over with a thick paste of lies like he always had.

He had no idea what he was going to say to them. Maybe he'd smooth things over with a thick paste of lies like he always had.

With a steadying breath, he pulled open the door. The earlier merriment had withered and left only small groups of patrons pushed against the walls in hushed conversation. Valentine looked up from the bar and gave him an acknowledging nod that he was too nervous to mirror.

As he stepped inside he noticed a familiar purple tiefling slumped over his flagon at the end of the bar, multicolor coat hanging limp over the back of his chair.

Caleb's chest tightened. He wasn't ready for this conversation.

He never would be, but he didn't have the luxury of choice anymore.

The enchantment tremored then unpeeled from him, stripping the illusion from his body in swathes.

Valentine whistled. "That's a pretty nifty—oh, you're bleeding," he said with a frown, cocking his head.

Molly looked up at that, tired eyes going wide at the sight of him. "Shit Caleb, your neck," he said, jumping out of his chair. "I'll go get Jester, she'll—"

"No!" said Caleb, "no..." he repeated more quietly, "it's shallow," he said and touched his neck absently. His fingers came away red.

"God and your arm, what the hell happened?" Molly asked, approaching him and pausing several feet away. A safe distance. The kind you'd use with a limping, half-feral street dog.

Caleb swallowed hard, looking at the scattered patrons than to Valentine. He nodded to the stock room. "May we?"

Valentine blinked. "Oh, yeah sure go ahead. Try not to bleed on the food, though."

Molly looked to Caleb, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest with narrowed eyes. "I am going to get bandages. If you bolt again, Caleb, I swear to god—"

"I—Yeah."

"Alright," Molly turned to Valentine. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid for two minutes."

"I don't know what that means," Valentine said with a frown, but Molly already turned, and in a few curt strides, vanished up the stairs. Valentine looked to Caleb with an arched eyebrow. "Water's on. Want tea?"

Caleb managed a nod, and Valentine set about preparing two mugs.

"I liked your disguise trick," he said over his shoulder. "I didn't know you were magic'y. Maybe you can help me get the stain out of the counter?"

Caleb gave a noncommittal hum as Valentine rattled on with his small talk. A log in the hearth cracked before collapsing into the dying fire. He watched the fire consume it. Trying to focus on something, anything, so that his livewire nerves didn't send him running again.

In five minutes time he was seated at the narrow table in the stockroom with a mug of murky tea clenched between his shaking hands. A crooked candle with a wobbling flame rested on the table and illuminated the small room.

Molly set the bandage rolls on the table, crossing his arms and giving Caleb a once over. "What happened?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"Sharkfin Syndicate."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Molly groaned, rubbing his face and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "See this is why we don't—ugh," he broke off, shaking his head with a clenched jaw. "Let's just—just show me the damage," he said, tone tight.

Caleb shrugged off his coat—letting the heavy weight pool around him. His fingers were still clumsy from the cold as he worked at his tunic, and he winced as he peeled it free from his shoulder.

Free from his protective layers, the cold's teeth dug into his exposed flesh, and he crossed his arms to trap the last scraps of his fleeing body heat. He felt small in the silent stockroom. All ribs and scars and gaping wounds.

Molly frowned at his bleeding shoulder but didn't step any closer. "Sword?" he asked.

"Crossbow bolt," Caleb admitted.

"And the neck?"

"Garotte."

"Nose?"

"Fell off a roof."

Molly arched a brow, but his lip stayed pressed into a hard line. "In that order?"

"No."

Valentine poked his head in and offered Molly some wet rags. Molly took them, thanked him, and watched the man leave before returning his attention back to Caleb. He gave him a cool once over before shaking his head.

"Catch," he said, throwing the rags at Caleb's face.

Before Caleb could blink, the rags collided with his face with a wet 'thwack', then dropped to his lap.

Molly snorted as he plopped down in the chair across from him. "Alright, start talking," he said, throwing his feet up on another chair. "I'm expecting a pretty good story after that bullshit stunt you pulled." A brief flash of humor colored his tone before it returned to thinly veiled frustration.

Caleb pried his hands off his mug to pick the towel off his lap. It was cold and coarse and made his neck smart when he dabbed at the shallow wound. "Uh, I was walking in the east side—a little ways from the docks," he said then continued to tell him about his encounter with Alexi. Methodically, he worked at his own wounds with the towel that went from beige to pink, then finally darkened to a too-familiar maroon as he tackled the slash on his bicep.

Molly listened in silence from across the table, shooting the occasional dissatisfied look at the floorboard. "So you're telling me this has been a shitty night for everyone, then," he said once Caleb had finished.

"Yes," Caleb murmured, voice barely above a whisper as he held the towel against his arm, tracing the woodgrain between the toes of his boots with his gaze.

"You know this plan of yours is bullshit, right? I know you're smart enough to have realized that," Molly said, tone sharp.

Caleb couldn't respond.

"Beau didn't think you were coming back. Fjord thinks you're going to try and fight all of us for money," Molly went on. "Yasha doesn't know what to think, Jester's sure you have a good reason, and Nott hasn't spoken a word in hours."

Caleb let his hand fall away. No amount of compression was stopping the bleeding. His body felt heavy and his limbs were full of lead. He dragged his gaze off the floor to meet Molly's.

"And what do you think, Mollymauk Tealeaf?"

Molly chewed on the question for a moment until it soured in his mouth. He chuckled mirthlessly. "Mr. Caleb, I really don't think you want to know what I think, quite honestly," he said with a smile that was cold and full of sharp edges.

"It doesn't matter what I want," he mumbled. He ran a thumb over his knuckles—they were already starting to crack and bleed from the cold.

Molly gave him a calculating stare before squaring his jaw with a little, mirthless smile to himself before setting his gaze back on Caleb. "You're right, and I think you're a dumbass. And delusional. And, like I said, that plan of yours is bullshit." His tail scraped across the floorboards in agitation.

Caleb nodded slowly, gaze sinking.

"And," Molly continued, "I also think you're also a pig-headed, stubborn _ass_. And, quite frankly, I don't think any of us can stop you from going through with it. You're too stubborn, and you're too smart for that."

Caleb looked up.

"Am I wrong?" Molly asked with a raised eyebrow.

Caleb didn't answer.

Molly sunk back in his chair, looking away. "Figured."

Another thick silence fell between them. A rivulet of blood dripped down Caleb's arm, following a jagged path over his goosebumps. He watched it go, trailing down, across the crook of his elbow, then following the curve of his arm until it collided with where it rested on the top of his leg. It soaked into his pants.

Molly mumbled something Caleb didn't catch, then with a sigh and a frown, scooted his chair around the side of the table, nearer to Caleb.

Wordlessly, Molly pried the towel from Caleb's hands, never touching him directly. He pressed it to Caleb's shoulder—and Caleb flinched at the pressure, but Molly didn't stop. After several moments and once he'd staunched the bleeding, he swapped the bloody rag out for the role of half-used bandages.

Caleb stared at the floor, counting and recounting the nails in the floorboards all while watching Molly begin to wrap his upper arm in his periphery. Molly's scarred fingers orbited around him, always at a measured distance, never touching. The flickering candle between them cast their shadows in opposite directions.

How funny to think they'd danced only hours ago.

This was the price for building friendships on a razor's edge.

"Are you planning on going off alone again?" Molly murmured, not looking up from his task.

"I…there is nowhere else," Caleb said, voice low and rough from exhaustion.

"Lift your arm," Molly commanded. He stood and moved behind Caleb's chair.

Caleb complied, letting Molly loop the thin bandages around his torso, working them further and further up his arm. There was a security in the compression of the bandages. A rhythm in the looping sensation. Order. Something to hold his jagged pieces together.

"Why are you helping me?" Caleb whispered at last.

"Don't remind me," Molly said, pulling the bandages a little tighter than necessary.

Caleb winced.

Molly finished the final loop and tucked the end back inside the bandages more gently. "Because, Caleb, despite your _absolutely_ best efforts to fuck all of this up, I, and all of those people upstairs," he nodded to the ceiling, "still care about you."

Caleb swallowed hard. A bead of wax dripped from the candle.

Molly's voice dropped lower in pitch and volume in exhaustion. "So think long and hard about what this venture of yours is going to cost you. And the rest of us," he said and took a step back.

Hearing that grotesque truth finally verbalized ripped the air from Caleb's lungs. His mind had danced around it for years. But Molly was right and he couldn't deny it any longer.

He was a monster. He was a monster for killing his parents, for blindly following Trent, for using his friends for years, and he was a monster for asking them to pay the price for all of that.

Molly sunk back in his chair.

"It does explain some things, you know," he said quietly, staring deep into the candle flame.

Caleb closed his eyes, trying to center himself around the mug of tea in his hands that had already gone cold. He waited for the next acute truth to drop. For his menagerie of flaws to be displayed before him like a collection of taxidermized beetles.

"Why you've been acting so weird," Molly went on. He gave a pained chuckled that sounded more like a labored huff of air. "Honestly I thought you were just sick and not telling us," he admitted before looking up to Caleb with a sadness in his eyes that stung like an iron brand.

Caleb looked away.

"But it's never something so easy with you, is it?" Molly asked.

Caleb couldn't answer, and another heavy silence weighed down on them even more solid and impermeable than the first. It stretched on further into the night and wasn't broken until Valentine pushed open the door.

"Oh, shoot I forgot you guys were in here, my bad," he said, spinning right back around with a crate of potatoes wedged under his arm.

"That's alright," Molly said, rising from his chair. "I think we're done here. For now," he said, casting Caleb another solemn look.

Caleb shrugged on his clothes while Molly collected the spare bandages and rags.

"Thank you, Molly," he murmured as they were about to leave—too much of a coward to meet his gaze.

Molly paused, inhaling as if he had something to say, but several beats later released a breathy, "Yeah."

He broke off to survey the situation upstairs while Caleb went to discreetly inquire about purchasing a room for himself from Valentine. He doubted Nott wanted to room with him anymore, and he didn't blame her. Valentine informed him the inn was still fully booked—yesterday was Civilization's Dawn, after all—but some rooms would open up in the next few days as people left the city.

As Valentine had delivered that disappointing news, Molly padded back downstairs to continue dispensing that night's bad fortune. Nott, Jester, and Yasha were curled up in her and Caleb's old room, Beau had locked herself in the girls' room, and Fjord was wearing a hole in the floor in his room with all his angry pacing.

By the time they'd worked out Caleb had nowhere to sleep for the night, the other patrons had retreated to bed—leaving the three of them alone in the belly of the inn with the dying hearth beside them.

This was how Caleb ended up back in the stockroom with a couple of moth-eaten blankets Valentine drummed up from who knows where.

"You'll be okay here?" Molly asked, pausing in the doorway as Caleb maneuvered some flour sacks into a simulacrum of a bed.

"I've slept in worse places," Caleb said, still having trouble meeting his gaze.

"You'll be here in the morning?" Molly asked, quieter.

Caleb paused. "Yeah," he said, nodding slowly more to himself than Molly. "Yeah, I think so."

"Alright. I'll hold you to that, Caleb Widogast," he said and was gone into the dark.

And once again, Caleb was left alone.

…

 _Caleb, unable to deal with the consequences of his actions: *yeets himself out the window*_

 _Molly: Guess ur sleeping on the couch tonight, babe :/_

 _Commenters are the lo-fi to my hip-hop, my cozy winter nights after a long day's work, my dm accidentally giving my barbarian enough magic items to boost their strength to 29._


	13. Ocean's Nein

**Chapter Thirteen:**

 **Ocean's Nein**

 _I hope everyone had a… *throws a dart at board* draconian Christmas, and a… *throws another dart* aquatic new year._

 _Some canon-typical drug use this chapter by a minor character. If that's something you'd wish to avoid, skip from the second scene break until "How long do we have until that wears off?"- I'll provide a summary in the endnotes._

 _…_

Despite his trying day, Caleb found no comfort in sleep that night. Lying there on lumpy flour sacks in the early morning, fingers and toes freezing from the cold, it was a relief when he heard Rose begin her day in the kitchen.

With stiff joints and aching limbs, he joined her, stumbling through the half-dark like a sleepwalker. After a quick breakfast, he volunteered to help her peel potatoes. The monotony and consistency of the task helped occupy his mind. There was peace in the short, rhythmic motions that drove his crackling anxiety to the back of his brain.

He'd had mornings like this before. Mostly pre-Nott. Where he'd been careless with his magic or his thievery or sometimes the innkeeper just didn't like how he looked, so he'd get thrown in jail for an evening.

Hours would roll by as he waited for dawn. For his verdict. For a bored, hungover guard to make some jabbing remarks before announcing his fate.

The real torture was in the waiting, though.

The veil of night lifted, and sleepy patrons trickled down the stairs. Rose left to focus on attending them, and soon the smell of sausage filled the inn along with the dull murmur of conversation.

Caleb worked at the potatoes one by one, until, to his surprise, there were none left to peel. He spun the knife in his hand absently, wondering if Rose had any other chores worth doing. He needed to keep doing something, anything.

A bright figure bounded into the kitchen, interrupting his train of thought.

"There you are," exclaimed Love with a grin, putting her hands on her hips. "I've been looking everywhere for you, come on," she said, grabbing him by the forearm. His shoulder smarted as she tugged him up. She towed him behind her, out of the kitchen and into the dining area.

"Eh, what's this about?" he managed over the sound of scuffling feet.

"Our plans, silly," she said as she pushed open the door to the stock room with her free hand. The door swung wide, revealing the rest of the Mighty Nein lounged around the table, halfway through breakfast.

They looked up at him, eyes widening. Caleb froze in place. Time slowed for a beat as the Mighty Nein exchanged glances.

Beau glared at him, almond eyes narrowed to slits while Nott stared resolutely downward, picking at a groove in the table with a dark nail.

"Love, darling," Molly said, still reclining in his chair but keeping an eye on Fjord and Beau, "Would you mind giving us a couple moments to ourselves? We've got a couple things to discuss. As a group," he said with a smile a genuine as his carnival glass swords.

Love clapped her hands together and clasped them. "I'd be delighted to. Normally. But the ball is in four days, and I have to leave for work in twenty minutes, so we really need to talk about the plan now, if we're still doing this," she said, tail swishing behind her.

Fjord stared at the ceiling working his jaw for a moment before taking a deep breath. He let his gaze fall to Love, ignoring Caleb all the while, and schooled his features. "Yeah, I suppose we should talk about that," he said at last and crossed his arms.

"Oh good," Love said with a relieved laugh and tugged Caleb the rest of the way into the storeroom.

He stumbled after her, brain full of static.

Love reached the table and dropped his hand to pull a folded piece of parchment out of her apron pocket and splayed it out on the table.

Caleb stood off to the back, having only enough sense to shut the door behind them as every thought in his brain scattered to the wind. He wasn't ready. He wasn't prepared for this.

Love unwrapped the parchment to reveal a crudely drawn floorplan. She leaned over the table, meeting the eyes of the Mighty Nein around her with an excited grin. "So this was the old plan…"

He needed to pay attention. This plan was everything. But the noose of what was yet to come hung heavy over him, and he lost himself in the body language of his friends. How Beau angled herself away from him shooting scowls in his direction. How Fjord and Nott refused to meet his gaze. How Jester kept staring at him with her sad, puppy dog eyes trying to get his attention.

"And what are your thoughts on this, Caleb?" Molly asked after Love finished, casual tone betrayed by his restless shifting.

Caleb blinked. "Uh, it'll be—it'll be difficult without the changeling's abilities, but if we split the roles between us, eh, it should be possible."

Love nodded. "I think so too!" She said, clapping her hands. "The tricky bit is going to be Tomoe's flask," she said, mouth quirked into a frown. "She's been a little bit paranoid since the coup, so she only drinks out of that one flask. It's enchanted to detect poisons and stuff."

"Well that does put a damper on the poison-the-Countess plan," Molly said.

"Then why would Lox have all that shit about poisons written down if it wasn't ever gonna work?" Beau asked as she wrenched her gaze from Caleb to Love.

Love shrugged. "I think that's what Lox was trying to figure out? Find something that wouldn't be detected, I mean," she said. "The last time I saw them aliv—" her throat caught on the word. "The last time I saw them they were going to speak with the alchemist who enchanted that flask in the first place."

"I'll take care of it," Nott said quietly. Her voice was coarse and raw.

Caleb looked away, swallowing hard.

"Nott?" Fjord asked with a raised eyebrow.

She pulled Lox's blood-stained tome from a pocket in her cloak and let it drop to the table. "I'll take care of it," she repeated, nodding at the book.

"Alright," Fjord said, nodding in surprise at her confidence. "We'll leave that to you."

The discussion trailed onwards with Caleb forcing himself to pay as much attention as he could. Jester splashed a couple coins on the table to represent party members on the map, and Molly contributed several of his rings as tokens.

There were so many moving parts now, and Caleb could only occasionally offer his input. A wizard wasn't much use in a magic-proof castle.

Over the course of twenty minutes, the Mighty Nein wedged themselves into the husk of Lox's original plan. They could only guess at Alexi's and the Sharkfin Syndicate's machinations, but one thing was sure: as soon as the Mighty Nein filled a vile with Tomoe's blood, they had a limited amount of time to escape before all hell would break loose. Likewise, their encounter with the Sharkfin Syndicate was likely to have a similar effect.

They needed to be in two places at once. They'd have to split the party.

"Oh, yeah, because nothing bad ever happens when we split up," Beau mumbled.

"If you have a better suggestion, please, by all means, do share," Fjord shot back. For a tense moment their gazes met. Dark circles hung beneath their eyes, and limp strands of unruly hair swung in front of Beau's face, pulled free from her topknot.

With a dark frown, Beau shook her head, and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and looking away.

Jester chimed in with another alternative, trying to keep her tone positive, but the timetables didn't work, and her plan crumbled under scrutiny all the others.

The plan they settled on was this:

Fjord and Jester would poison the Countess and draw her blood. Yasha, Nott, and Beau would be the strike team to intercept the Sharkfin Syndicate since their abilities would be mostly unaffected by the wards. Molly and Caleb would wait in the wings to close in on the Syndicate from behind but would also be positioned in a way that they'd be able to aid Jester and Fjord if needed. Love would be working the event and could serve as a messenger between the groups.

"Oh, this is all coming together so well," Love said, beaming at the group as she folded the floorplan back up.

At least someone felt good about this plan. As for Caleb, it was all he could do to keep his hands clenched on his knees to hide their shaking. As soon as Love left, the real conversation would fill the space she left behind with accusations and biting words and teeth that tore.

"Pardon my askin'," Fjord said, turning back to Love as she prepared to leave, "But you seem pretty gung-ho about this whole thing. Do you have anything against the Countess? Or is that just sort of a dispositional thing?"

Her giggle bounced around the stockroom, feeling strange and alien in the tense air. "That's a funny way to ask someone why they're okay with committing treason," she said.

Fjord opened his mouth to speak, but Love plowed onwards. "My mom bought this inn from the previous owner. She loves it a lot and works real hard every day, but even with me picking up an extra job, it still isn't enough to pay off the loan," she confessed with a shrug.

"One last job then, huh?" Molly supplied, watching Love with interest.

She nodded. "It's uh—not the best, owing people money in Ice Haven," she said, voice going softer as she looked down at her feet, "but this'll be the last one. Then we'll only take the jobs we want to take. And maybe hire another server so my mom can take days off, and—" she cut herself off, curbing her own enthusiasm and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in embarrassment. "Sorry—I'm just…I'm just really glad you guys are here," she admitted.

"Aww, we're glad to be here too, Love," Jester cooed.

At that Love blushed a violent fuchsia, and quietly excused herself, scuttling out of the room and leaving the Mighty Nein in silence.

"Nothing like a little added pressure, right?" Molly asked Nott, keeping his tone light and elbowing her slightly.

Her only response was to bury her talon deeper into the wood grain.

"Hey Caleb," Beau called, breaking the thick silence.

He forced himself to look up. He couldn't avoid this any longer. "Yes, B—"

"What the actual fuck?" she asked, voice rough with challenge. She stood to her feet, pushing her chair back with a loud scraping noise. All pretense of civility falling like a curtain.

In a heartbeat, she was across the room and hoisting him by his collar off the barrel he'd been sitting on.

"Hey now—" Molly said, standing too.

"Beau this isn't what we planned!" Jester said and jumped out of her chair.

Beau ignored them, staring Caleb dead in the eye. Faces inches apart.

Blood pumped in his ears, and he could smell traces of last night's alcohol on her robes.

"So here's what's happening, Widogast," she breathed. "You're going to sit at this table and let Jester cast Zone of Truth on you until we learn everything we want to know. Got it?" she asked, enunciating the syllables so they were sharp as knives. "No more transmutation-bird-misty-step bullshit."

"Y-yeah," he managed.

"Great," she said and dropped him back down on the barrel he'd been sitting on. "Jester," she said, turning to the two tieflings hovering nearby. "He's all yours."

The interrogation lasted a little over an hour and Jester cast Zone of Truth seven times. Each time the cool magic washed over him, sinking into his lungs, and he had to will his body to relax and succumb to the spell each time. The onslaught of questions never ceased. Jester had a list she'd written in the sketchbook, and regularly Beau would interject with some of her own. Sometimes Molly and Yasha would add theirs. Twice Fjord. Never Nott.

"Did you kill our Caleb?"

"No."

"Is he in there with you?"

"No."

"So you want to go to the past to save your family?"

He grit his teeth. So Beau had aired his dirty laundry for him.

"Yes," he managed.

"Even if it means we might not ever be friends?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Jester's ears drooped downwards. Caleb had to look away.

"Why haven't you already gone back?"

"I—the spell components are very rare, and very hard to come by," he said, measuring his words.

"So that's why you said you wanted diamonds?"

"Yes."

"So you jumped back in time once without a plan to jump back again? Now that doesn't sound very much like the Caleb I know," Molly said.

"There was a plan," he admitted, voice sounding distant and weak even to him. "But things have already changed in ways I didn't plan."

"This Ice Haven thing is new, isn't it?" Molly asked, and Caleb could see the pieces clicking into place behind his dark eyes.

"Yes."

Molly hummed in thought, leaning back in his chair to think as Beau took over.

"What bullshit are you planning now?"

Caleb took a deep breath, fighting down the lies the immediately sprung to his lips. "I was thinking about robbing the Bank of Zadash," he said at last. It was technically the truth.

"Shit," Beau mumbled to herself in shock.

"And this Ice Haven business is just another stepping stone to get you closer to that?" Fjord asked, voice even but with an undercurrent so dark and frozen it sent Caleb off kilter. Fjord was hunched over on a barrel in the corner, studying the ground under him, trying to hide the tension in his jaw and neck.

Beau's anger ran hot, and Fjord's ran cold, and Caleb wasn't sure which he was more afraid of. As if it had a mind of its own, Caleb's hand rose to rest over his heart, tugging on the edge of his coat in the absence of the periapt.

"It—every little bit helps," Caleb finally said after collecting his thoughts. "It took me seven years to collect enough money before."

"And as soon as you buy your components, you're gone, huh? What happens to us then?" Beau asked.

"I don't know."

"How the fuck don't you know?"

"I just don't, Beauregard," he gritted. Maybe they'd be fine. Maybe this timeline would just go on without him. Maybe it'd unravel. Unwrite itself like he always assumed it would. Maybe it would collapse and tear itself apart.

All of the texts he studied were written from the perspective of the caster. Not the people they left behind.

"Last night, what did you say about dead clerics?"

Caleb clenched his hand into a fist under the table, blunt nails cutting bloody half-moons into his palm with the force. "I..I told you the future I'm from was shitty."

"What happened?"

"We got tangled up in things bigger than us."

Fjord looked up, meeting Caleb's gaze for the first time since last night. "Did you or your _ambitions_ ," he spat the word like a curse, "get any members of the Mighty Nein killed?"

Caleb straightened at that, blinking back shock. "I've never killed a member of the Mighty Nein."

"Hm."

"But you've saved them before," Molly pointed out.

"Ya."

Molly leaned forward on his elbows, watching Caleb across the table with a scrutinizing gaze. "I was supposed to die a couple weeks ago, wasn't I?" he asked, curiosity and realization flickering across his face in equal measure.

Jester gasped, Beau took a sharp intake of breath, and Yasha stiffened. She reached an arm out, resting it on Molly's shoulder then looked to Caleb.

"Answer him," Yasha rasped.

Caleb met Molly's infinite gaze. The way he leaned forward exposed a large swathe of his lavender chest. It rose and fell softly. Missing an eight-inch glaive wound.

That long-familiar weight of grief rose to settle in Caleb's lungs.

"Yes," he whispered, drowning.

Jester covered her mouth in shock, Fjord's brows knit together, Beau paled, Yasha's hand on Molly tightened, and even Nott froze.

"Shit," Beau breathed, massaging her temples.

"Huh, well isn't that interesting," Molly said casually, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin in thought.

"Molly, I don't want you to die!" Jester wailed, leaning out of her chair to bury her head against his shoulder.

"Ooh, ouch, thank you, Jester," he said, wincing at her horns. He lifted a hand to give her head a few sympathetic pats. "I'll work on making not dying a priority," he said. "I haven't—" but he broke off when Yasha stood, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Wordlessly, she unpeeled her hand from Molly's shoulder, and in a few short steps, walked out of the room.

"Yasha, Yasha, wait—" Molly called, jumping up and going after her, and Jester followed on his heels, clinging to his arm.

Caleb felt the Zone of Truth fizzle out as she left and found himself inadvertently sighing in relief. The last ounce of his strength fled his body, and he collapsed back into his chair, drained.

Beau watched the trio leave and for a moment it seemed she was going to follow them, but then decided better of it and turned her attention to Caleb then to Fjord. "I think we're done for now."

Fjord nodded slowly, once again staring into empty space and avoiding meeting Caleb's gaze. "Seems so."

Beau looked back to Caleb. "Hey Caleb, look at me."

He did.

"We've all got secrets, but if I think your lying to us from here on out, or hiding something that's gonna hurt the team," she cracked her knuckles and lifted her chin in challenge. "I've got ways of making you tell the truth too."

"Understood."

"Just making sure we're on the same page," she said with a mirthless smile then slung an arm around Nott. "Let's get out of here," she murmured, and the two women stood. Fjord followed their lead but paused in the doorway on his way out.

"Caleb," he said, looking over his shoulder, pupils constricted to thin slits. His knuckles went white on the doorframe. "If you do anything to hurt these people…" he trailed off, voice low and faux-accent slipping

Caleb swallowed hard and nodded once in acknowledgment.

After another beat, Fjord's shadow left the doorframe, leaving Caleb alone in the stockroom. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned Frumpkin to the table. He willed the tabby to lean forward so he could scratch his neck and bury his hands in his soft fur.

"Well that could've gone better, ya?" he mused.

Frumpkin didn't answer.

…

Lazy afternoon snow floated down on the bustling crowd. Thick-bodied draft horses parted the stream of people—steam billowing from their flared nostrils. The Mighty Nein huddled around a dark, windowless storefront with a gilded sign that read 'The Yawning Den'.

Caleb stood several feet outside the circle, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to be as inoffensive as possible.

The door opened, and Molly and Yasha slipped out into the cold to rejoin their friends. The duo had disappeared for hours earlier, and since then Yasha hadn't strayed more than six inches form Molly's side.

"Oh, they're in there alright," Molly said as they rejoined the group.

"Are they—?" Beau mimed a smoking motion.

Molly chuckled. "Ohhh yes. You know the rates aren't terrible either," he added, wiggling his eyebrows at Beau.

"No one is smoking anything, " Fjord said. His voice was even, but the tension in his posture from earlier hadn't left. "Not today."

Beau frowned. "So the plan is: go inside, tell this high-as-fuck kid to get the hell out of the city. And just hope they listen to us." She said. "As far as shitty plans of our's go, this one's up there."

"Once again Beau," Fjord said. "If you have any alternate suggestions, please do share with the group."

Molly cut in before Beau could spit a retort back.

"We might need to put a bit of coin on the table," Molly warned. "Sweeten the deal."

The group shuffled uncomfortably for a moment, minds all drifting to their empty coin purses.

"I've found there are other ways of being persuasive," Beau said, choosing her words slowly as she cracked one knuckle at a time.

Caleb flinched.

"I mean, Molly or I could try Charm Person?" Jester offered. "But it only works for an hour," she added with a little frown.

"So we send Jester in, disguised, to charm them, and if that doesn't work, I guess we'll do it Beau's way," Fjord said, doubt flickering across his crunched brow.

Caleb cleared his throat.

Nott stiffened.

"I can do it," he said, voice rough.

The weight of their gazes landed on him, and he cast his eyes to the ground, hands fidgeting within his pocket. "I have a spell for this," he said, voice softer. There was no point in hiding his hand anymore.

"Perfect," Molly said, shooting a toothy grin at Beau. "See? It's all working out."

She frowned at him while Fjord side-eyed Caleb with a measured expression. "I'm coming with you."

Caleb nodded.

Thick, acrid smoke rolled along the floor of The Yawning Den, filling the room with a nauseating haze. Caleb stepped up to the clerk wearing the guise of the Syndicate's own Alexi Vetrov. He could feel Fjord's presence looming close behind him, and though he too wore a different face, the icy stare hadn't changed.

"Two?" the clerk asked, eyeing both of them up and down with boredom.

"We're actually here to deliver a message to a friend," Caleb said, imitating Alexi's accent as best he could.

She sighed. "Make it quick."

A sea of bodies lied amidst the fog. Various patrons stretched out on palettes and mats, strung out and spellbound. The flickering glow from their lamps played across their faces, so they looked like dreamy celestials one moment and malnourished ghouls the next.

Their particular query lounged off to the side, still wearing the palace uniform.

Caleb navigated the maze of sprawling limbs until he reached the half-elf. Their blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun, dark bags hung beneath tired eyes, and the faint indication of wrinkles creased the edges of their eyes despite their young age. They twiddled with a wooden pipe about the length of Caleb's forearm, letting the end drift over the lamp's flame.

"You are Konstantin Vynokurov, ya?" Caleb asked, seating himself on the stretch of unoccupied mat. Fjord leaned against the wall.

The half-elf raised a slow eyebrow. "Mmm, who's asking?" they said, voice distant and slurred with a sing-song quality.

"We've come to deliver a message," Caleb continued, holding Konstantin's gaze while his hand drifted for his component pouch.

"If Doctor Ogino sent you, tell her I'm," Konstantin inhaled deep on the pipe, then exhaled a thick cloud through their nose and into Caleb's face, "preoccupied," they finished with a sleepy grin.

Caleb blinked, bitter smoke making his eyes smart. His fingers wormed into his component pouch, locating the dried snake's tongue and his honeycomb. "Konstantin Vynokurov," Caleb said, letting his magic cover his throat and mouth like a thick syrup, so the incantation dripped from every word.

"Hm?" they asked, perfectly pliant and watching Caleb through glassy eyes.

"We _suggest_ you quit your job today. Say it was too stressful for you, then leave Ice Haven, and look for work in another city."

Konstantin blinked, then took another drag on their pipe. The grey smoke curled around all three of them before joining the curtain of fog in the room. "Yeah, alright."

Caleb and Fjord excused themselves, weaving their way back towards the exit.

"How long do we have until that wears off?" Fjord mumbled.

"A year and a day," Caleb whispered back and he heard Fjord's sharp intake of breath in response.

"That's a dangerous spell," Fjord said at last as they pushed out the door, tone even but with a faint edge of accusation.

Caleb swallowed hard, shoving his hands back in his pockets as the cold knocked the air out of his lungs. "Yeah."

The dusk leeched color from the world on their long walk back to the Tipsy Seal. Caleb continued to trail behind the group like an afterthought. He could almost lose himself in the concentration it took to wade through a foot of snow. Almost filter out the way Fjord whispered, hurried and low, to Beau. Or the way Beau blanched at what he told her. Or the looks they shot back at him. Scrutinizing with an undercurrent of fear.

He took deep, steadying breaths that never seemed to be enough. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.

When they returned to the inn, Beau in a few short words informed him the Mighty Nein needed to have a "talk". Without him.

Caleb leaned against the bar, unsure of what to do with himself as the rest of his friends began to file into the stock room.

"Hey," Molly said, sliding in next to Caleb while keeping an eye on the rest of the group. "How are you holding up?"

"I've been worse," Caleb said, staring at his hands.

"Not what I asked, but alright," he said. "Here." He slapped something hard and metal down on the bar.

"A key?"

"Listen, Caleb," Molly said, turning on him with a sigh, "things are shitty right now, but if you leave things are just going to get that much shittier, so do me a favor and don't go on any more midnight excursions tonight, alright?" he asked, weariness hanging in his voice and on his shoulders.

"You want me to lock myself in my room?" Caleb asked slowly, staring at the key but making no move for it.

"Gods no. Do what you want just stick around the inn. That key is for Fjord's and my room," he said. "Nott's locked you out."

"Ah."

Molly watched him for a moment. A conflicted expression played across his face, mouth slightly agape as if he wanted to say more, but a shouting Beauregard ended that. "Remember what I said, Caleb," he called as he was dragged away by the scruff of his coat.

Glad to have a retreat from the roaming eyes of the Tipsy Seal's patrons, Caleb escaped upstairs where the roar of the evening crowd was muted into a low hum.

As it turned out, Nott _had_ locked Caleb out. More than that, she'd left all of his effects in a pile in front of the door.

With a sigh, he scooped them up and headed for Molly and Fjord's room to sort through the mess.

The room layout was identical the room he'd shared with Nott. Small bed, narrow hearth, table and chair, and a frosted over window casting diffused moonlight across the floor. A few dying embers glowed in the hearth, failing to combat the heavy chill hanging in the room.

Fjord kept his minimal belongings shoved off in a corner while Molly's menagerie of colorful and odd tchotchkes consumed the entire space as if he'd lived there for five years already. It even smelled like him already for godsake—though the pile of half burned incense might explain part of that.

Seating himself at the table, Caleb began to sort through his belongings, packing them back into various pockets and pouches on his person. He snapped Frumpkin back into existence, letting the familiar crawl onto his lap as he sorted. The last item in the pile took him a moment to recognize.

 _'_ _Sixteen Princes and a Midwife'_. That ridiculous action novel he'd picked up yesterday morning. A lifetime ago.

He ran a finger down the book's spine. There were times when he just felt so powerless. That despite his lifetime of struggle and effort, fate would drag him like an undertow towards whatever final destination it'd chosen, and nothing he could do would ever make a difference.

But there were other times when he felt the reverse was true. When he was keenly aware, with crystalline horror, just how much control he had over his own life. That any moment he could smash it all into glittering shards. He could keep secrets, tell lies, and destroy every significant relationship he had within twenty-four hours. Ruin everything just like that.

What a terrible responsibility it was to live as a person.

…

The sound of muffled voices caused Caleb to start awake, disturbing Frumpkin in his lap. His back ached from sitting in the rickety chair, and there was a neat grease stain on page 12 of _'Sixteen Princes and a Midwife'_ where he'd fallen asleep on it.

"Get him out, Molly. This isn't negotiable," hissed the first voice. Fjord.

"And put him where?" Molly shot back, Caleb could see their shadows from under the door. "Listen, the only other person who'd be willing to room with him right now is Jester, and I know you don't want that."

"Put him in the hall for all I care. Put him in a different inn. There's no way in hell I'm going to sleep in the same room he's in."

"Fjord, listen listen—"

"No, you listen, Molly. Frankly, I don't care that you have a soft spot for him. That man has used us and lied to us for the entire time we've known him. He's _dangerous_."

"Goddammit, Fjord, we're all dangerous," Molly hissed. "He's not this invincible, world-shattering mastermind you've convinced yourself he is. He's just Caleb."

Fjord took a step forward. "People like him get other people killed. I've seen it happen before, and I'm not going to let it happen again."

"And we're not going to let him hurt anyone," Molly said placatingly, "but think about this, Fjord, since the time he's been here, he's saved you, me, Yasha, and Jester from the Iron Shepherds, saved me a second time from the maniac in Berleben, then spent the next week reading to me and Jester because we were sick. Does that really sound like a cold-blooded wizard mastermind to you?"

"For all we know that's part of his plan, Molly," Fjord stressed, frustration raising his voice.

Molly made a noise between a growl and a sigh. "Alright, alright," he said at last, voice tight. "If you want me to stay up and keep watch on him, I will, Fjord. If that's what it takes. But we're all shitty people, and we don't throw people out on the streets just because they're being shitty."

"This is beyond shitty, Molly. Way beyond."

Molly sighed again, but this one was more tired than frustrated. "And I _agree_ with you, but throwing him out on the street is only going to make things worse for everyone—especially if he actually is the mastermind you think he is."

There was a beat of silence before Fjord let out a weary groan. "Alright. You win, Molly. But the second he tries anything weird, he's out in the hall."

"Fair enough."

The doorknob turned, and Caleb rested his head back down on his book, shutting his eyes as the duo entered. He listened to them ready for bed around them, shirking their gear and stoking the embers. In time they settled down and the noises ceased. Their breathing went slow and shallow. The stars drifted through the sky as hours passed, and all Caleb could do was lay there, wide awake and wondering what he'd ever done to deserve the friendship of Mollymauk Tealeaf.

…

 _The M9, downstairs: We need to talk about how absurdly strong Caleb is and what that means for the group :/_

 _Caleb, upstairs, talking to Frumpkin: Do you ever think about how you can go absolutely apeshit at any given moment?_

 _Summary of the drug scene: The M9 tracked down an apprentice doctor who worked at the palace, and Caleb cast Mass Suggestion at 9_ _th_ _level to get the kid to quit their job and leave town. Fjord was freaked out._


	14. So Just Give Me a Happy Middle

**Chapter Fourteen:**

 **So Just Give Me a Happy Middle**

 _"_ _And a very happy start."_

 _Special thank you to CodeSculptor who's generously agreed to beta for me! Hopefully this fic will be less of an affront to grammarians everywhere._

 _…_

The next day the sun never rose. Swirling, black clouds choked the sky, punctured by the tops of buildings and releasing their frozen insides in a violent gale. Lightning flashed, followed by booming thunder that shook the window pane in its casing.

"It's getting closer," Molly noted, embroidery forgotten in his lap as he watched the storm. He sat cross-legged on the floor on the opposite side of the hearth as Caleb.

Caleb hummed in acknowledgment. He'd been trying to make more progress in _'Sixteen Princes and a Midwife'_ all morning, but his mind kept drifting. He stroked absent circles between Frumpkin's shoulder blades.

"How's the book?" Molly asked, nodding at where it rested on Caleb's legs.

Caleb regarded the pages in front of him. The lines kept blurring under his tired eyes. The premise was interesting, but it kept getting derailed by side plots he couldn't force himself to invest in. "I don't know," he said at last, voice rough from lack of sleep. "I'll tell you when I finish."

Molly shrugged. He stuck the needle between his lips to hold it while he prepared the next length of thread. "I don't see how a book can be good if you're not enjoying the middle," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

Caleb ran a hand down the edge of the book. "Sometimes good books have bad endings, sometimes bad books have good endings," he said at last.

Molly frowned, removing the needle from his mouth to thread it. "Seems like a waste if you're not enjoying it all the way through."

Caleb fought back the ghost of a smile, still staring down at his book. He should've been used to Molly's strange perspectives by now. He opened his mouth to respond, but something glass shattered in the next room over, and both Molly and Caleb stiffened.

"Beau?" Molly called at the wall.

"We're good!" came her muffled voice.

Caleb swallowed hard. "They need to be careful. If something spills, they can't open the window to vent the room," he said quietly to his open book, rubbing more intense circles in the faux tabby.

"Don't gas yourselves," Molly shouted to the other room.

"Fuck you!" Beau shouted back.

"Fuck you too!" Molly shouted with a wide grin. He turned back to Caleb. "I'm sure they're fine. Nott seems like she's done this before."

"She has," Caleb murmured.

He'd met her gaze on accident earlier. When Love and Rose had brought up an old caldron for her to brew in and some empty wine barrels for the run-off.

He'd been passing their room—her room—and saw her there, small and thin and surrounded by hundreds of bottles of potions they'd bought for her before the storm hit. Pages torn from Lox's journal covered every available surface.

Her face was open, eyes wide with curiosity. Until her gaze found him in the hall. For a beat, their eyes met, and time slowed around them. Then her face darkened, and she looked away. Time resumed. Love pushed past him. Beau closed the door. And that was that.

Molly continued to knot teal stars into his coat, letting the needle bob in and out of view.

"Nott hates me," Caleb breathed, more to himself than anyone else.

Molly's hands paused, and his gaze flicked over to Caleb. "Can't say you haven't given her a reason to."

Caleb's grip on his book tightened.

"I know the going advice for these sorts of situations is to talk to out, but I honestly don't think you should go near her. She might put an arrow through you," Molly said, half-joking, half-serious.

"Yeah," Caleb breathed.

"You know a simple solution would be to just not time travel, you know," Molly said with a measured casualness as he side-eyed him.

Caleb stiffened.

Molly watched him for a moment before resigning himself to Caleb's silence and returning to his stars.

"I-I don't have a choice, Mollymauk," Caleb said a beat too late, voice rough and barely audible over the storm.

One of Molly's dark brows quirked up while his mouth contorted into a thin frown. "Now I thought we were done lying to ourselves," he said.

Caleb looked up at that, caught off guard. "It's not a lie—"

Molly broke him off with a snort and an eye roll. "A word of advice from a professional bullshitter: don't buy into your own con, Caleb."

A flash of lightning lit the sky, and Molly turned to look out the window at the gale.

"Just don't go," he said, voice distant.

A clap of thunder shook the room, and silence followed behind it. The direction of the wind changed, pelting the window with loud, frozen rain.

Molly didn't understand. No one did, and no one could. They all knew about his parents now, but none of them could possibly imagine the suffocating weight of carrying that burden.

But sitting here, watching Molly stare out the window with that sad, far-off expression that looked so out of place on him, Caleb felt another piece of his resolve chip away.

He loved his parents. He _owed_ his parents. So, so much. But he loved the Mighty Nein too and abandoning them here would leave him with the same debilitating guilt.

He could stay and hate himself for what he'd done to his parents, or he could leave and hate himself for what he'd done to the Mighty Nein.

There were no roads to happiness left for Caleb Widogast.

He leaned his head back against the wall, watching Molly stare at the sky. When all was said and done, he might not have a say in the matter. The clock kept ticking onwards, and he still had no more money than he had when he first arrived. The palace heist could sour in a heartbeat. If that failed, he doubted he'd have time to travel back to Zadash and concoct another plan.

All he could do now was pitch in where he could and try not to ruin things more than he already had.

The rain continued to beat down on the world, and a log cracked in the hearth behind them. Wordlessly, Molly started on some sort of fern shape—or maybe it was a feather?

Caleb returned to his book, trying to force the meandering sentences to make sense in his head. He made it through one page, then five, then a whole chapter. With every page turn, the limp, torn sleeve of his jacket trailed across the book.

It'd been sliced from the elbow down the night of his "grand escape" exposing the pale stretch of arm below, like flesh hanging from the bones of a partially skinned animal.

He'd put this coat through hell and back over the years. Patching it up with lopsided stitches until a particularly rough dragon fight a few years in the future tore it to shreds and he finally had to lay it to rest.

A chill ran through him as the cold seeped in through his exposed forearm. They'd only been in Ice Haven for a short while, but he tired of this place and the endless cold and the endless numb. Was it too much to ask to want to feel again?

Molly was engrossed with his fifth feather, leaning close to the fabric to finish the delicate stitching required at the top. His nose scrunched in concentration, and there was a hint of a forked tongue just peeking through the corner of his mouth as he finished the last stitch. It wasn't until he cut the thread with a small knife that Caleb realized he'd been holding his breath.

Molly looked up, catching Caleb staring. "Yes?" he asked, voice tired but free of accusation.

Caleb blinked. Then blinked again. "Oh, uh, do you have an extra needle by chance, Mollymauk?" he managed, blurting the first thing that came to his mind.

He'd hoped the recent group dysfunction would've cured his budding habit of staring at Mollymauk for too long, but when had Caleb ever been that lucky?

Molly watched him for a second longer, confusion flickering across his face before he nodded. He dug around his supplies for a moment before withdrawing a backup needle. "Thread?"

"Uh, yes thank you. Do you have brown?"

"Absolutely not."

"Alright, black?"

"Nope."

"Anything then."

Molly handed over the needle with a length of fluorescent yellow thread.

Well, that would have to do. He shrugged off his coat, and the moment he was free of it winter sunk into his bones and a chill wracked his body.

Molly continued to watch him with curiosity, tail thumping lightly against the floor. "Taking up embroidery, Caleb? I'm flattered to be such an inspiration," Molly said, eyebrow raised with barest hint of mischief returning to his tone.

Caleb let his jacket puddle in his lap and centered the torn sleeve. "No, no, just...fixing," he mumbled to the sleeve, unable to hold Molly's gaze any longer.

"How's your shoulder?" Molly asked, nodding at the now-exposed bandages.

"Sore," Caleb admitted. He tried to feed the thread through the eye of the needle, but his cold, clumsy fingers kept missing.

"Jester should look at it when she gets back."

Caleb frowned, trying to force the thread through again. "She had a big day today. It's not worth bothering her over."

"Why don't we let her make that decision?"

"Alright," Caleb relented. It wasn't worth arguing with one of his only allies about.

That morning Jester had set off for the palace, applying for a conveniently vacated medical apprenticeship but leaving a tense energy in her absence. To Caleb's knowledge, Fjord was still pacing circles in the tavern beneath them.

In the other room, Nott, assisted by Beau and Yasha, slaved over a cauldron full of common potions—something about reducing them down for some shared ingredient she needed at a higher potency. No one felt like sharing the specifics with him, so all he could do was twiddle his thumbs until something changed.

Molly returned to his embroidery, and Caleb continued to try and thread his needle—only succeeding on the sixth try and with a pinch of beeswax borrowed from his component pouch.

After knotting the thread's end, he began the tedious process of suturing the tear closed. It was simple, methodical work, which is why he only found himself getting more and more frustrated with every fumble his numb fingers made. The needle never poked through at the right place, leaving his stitches awkward and lopsided.

What kind of ex-wunderkind couldn't even sew his own coat?

He let the needle dangle there on the end of the thread like a dead fish, still attached to his crooked handiwork. No one else would notice, but he would.

With a tired sigh he couldn't hold back, he dug around in his bags for a knife.

"You have to knot it a second time before you—wait, why are you?" Molly paused in his own needlework to watch Caleb with confusion. "Caleb, it looks fine?"

"It's crooked," he said and severed the beginning knot so he could pull the entire thread out.

"Well, are you trying to win a contest with it? What's the problem if it's a little off?" Molly asked, tilting his head in confusion. His horn jewelry jingled in the firelight.

"It would bother me," Caleb said quietly and knotted the thread again.

Molly sighed, "Alright, here." He put his own coat to the side and scooted forward so their knees touched. He pulled the sleeve out of Caleb's loose grip, calloused pads of Molly's fingers brushing the back of Caleb's knuckles.

Caleb swallowed hard, keeping his expression neutral while some traitorous part of his brain informed him this was the first time they'd touched since the incident. Since their dance.

"I'll hold it so it won't buckle on you," Molly said as he pulled the sleeve taught. "Try it again."

"Alright," he breathed, focusing on knotting the thread in his hands and not the weight of Molly's gaze on him. His hands shook, mostly from the cold and the fact he'd skipped breakfast, but it looked damning in context.

"I still don't know how you manage all of your flowers and stars," Caleb said with a nervous chuckle—anything to fill the electric silence. Rain pattered against the window.

"It's not so hard once you get the hang of it," Molly admitted. "The real trick is being able to hold the fabric tight in one hand and stitch with the other on a moving cart," he said, readjusting his hands as Caleb stitched further down the tear.

"Where did you learn?"

"Oh, here, there, and everywhere."

Caleb finished the line of stitching for the second time but found it to be nearly as clumsy as the first. He sucked his teeth in dismay. "You act like it's so easy," he said, giving the stitches a last frown before looking for his knife.

"Hey now," Molly said, pulling the sleeve away. "You don't have to cut it out again—hand me the needle."

Caleb placed it in Molly's open hand, hyper-aware of the way his fingers ghosted over Molly's warm palm as he withdrew his hand.

"Now, look here," Molly instructed holding the needle up for Caleb to see. "Watch this." He fed the needle underneath the sleeve, letting the gleaming point emerge several centimeters from the ugliest stitch.

Caleb frowned in confusion as Molly pulled the thread through, made a loop, and tacked the loop down before the needle disappeared once again beneath the surface. Molly repeated the motion, creating a second loop from the same center point.

Realization dawned on Caleb. He watched Molly complete the daisy, successfully obscuring the mistake.

"Tada, problem solved," Molly announced, admiring his own handiwork.

Caleb couldn't hold back a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, I guess that is a solution, but now I've got a single daisy on my sleeve, Mollymauk."

"So what I'm hearing is you want more daisies," Molly said looking up at him with a cheeky grin.

"I think _you_ want more daisies," Caleb said, trying and failing to keep his face and tone stern.

"Well, if you insist," Molly said, drawing the sleeve further into his own lap with a widening grin. He rethreaded the needle but paused before continuing, looking up at Caleb in question.

"Go ahead," he said with an easy shrug. "Just, uh, maybe not too crazy," he added, sneaking a glance over Molly's shoulder at his rainbow coat that probably weighed an extra five pounds from the weight of the embroidery alone. "Maybe we only use the yellow thread, ya?"

"Could I sell you on blue too?"

"Alright. But only yellow and blue."

"Oh, I always knew there was a man of taste buried somewhere in there," Molly teased, smiling down at his second daisy.

Despite everything, he had a miraculous ability to make Caleb feel _silly_. Like a schoolchild sharing secrets in the middle of class. He wondered if they would've been friends as children. Maybe not. Caleb Widogast and Mollymauk Tealeaf did not exist as children. Only Bren and Lucien. Maybe that's why the sensation now was so intoxicating.

Molly's dark bangs fell in front of his eyes in gentle waves, partially obscuring the dimple from his crooked smile. He absently swayed his head in an attempt to move the hair from his vision as he worked, and Caleb was struck by the nearly overpowering impulse to tuck those wisps of hair behind his horns.

That thought alone jolted a fraction of sense back into him, and he became keenly aware of how much he'd subconsciously leaned forward.

Molly looked up, mouth open, but the sentence died on his lips when he noticed their noses were only inches apart. He stiffened, eyes going wide in surprise, but he didn't pull back. The fire beside them crackled. The space between them buzzed with heat and dangerous possibility.

The room flickered white, then a crash of thunder shook the building. Both of them jumped in surprise, ramming foreheads.

They collapsed in opposite direction, Caleb spilling backward with a hiss, clutching at his forehead where bone met bone. Frumpkin darted out of the way and under the bed.

"Mmm, Molly, your horns," Caleb groaned, rolling over onto his side.

"Sorry, can't do much about them," Molly said and massaged his own forehead with a grimace.

Caleb pushed himself onto his knees then stood, joints popping as he did. "I'm-I'm going to get something to drink."

"Oh, bring me a house malt," Molly called from the floor as Caleb excused himself from the room.

He shut the door carefully then collapsed against the nearest wall and sunk halfway down it. A hot flush rose up his body, and he ran his trembling hands down his face while taking deep shuddering breaths. No, no, no, no, no. This wasn't happening. It _couldn't_ happen. Gods, maybe he was insane after all.

He had a plan. A plan over a decade in the making that Mollymauk Tealeaf had already complicated by simply being alive. He couldn't afford to let him complicate things further—no matter how charming his dimples were.

Lightning struck again, revealing a large figure silhouetted by the window at the end of the dark hall. Caleb started, heart pounding in his eardrums.

Yasha strode up to him and eyed him up and down.

Caleb rested a hand over his heart and tried to calm his breathing. It was Yasha. Just Yasha. She had no way of knowing what just happened. Almost happened. This was coincidence.

"Come with me. We need to talk." she said and turned to walk down the hall.

Wordlessly, Caleb obeyed and trailed after her. When a 6-foot barbarian woman with biceps like iron cords asked you to do something, it was best to comply.

She led him to the large window at the edge of the hall. Frost crept at the edges, partially obscuring the view of the storm ravaging Ice Haven.

"I thought you were helping Nott with the poison—" Caleb began, but he was broken off when Yasha stepped forward, engulfing him in a bone-crushing hug.

Caleb froze under the sudden contact, too stunned to reciprocate.

"Thank you. Thank you so, so much," she whispered, voice raw and just above a whisper.

Oh. _Oh_.

Yasha withdrew but kept her hands on his shoulders to look at him. "Caleb, I can't—if you hadn't been there…"

He put his hand on her arm, giving it what he hoped was a comforting squeeze.

Yasha took a shuddering breath, taking a moment to compose herself before meeting Caleb's gaze again. "I've been meaning to—thank you for saving him, Caleb."

"Of course," he breathed.

She dropped her hands from his shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. "I—he means the world to me."

"I know."

"I care about him so much."

"I know."

"I'm in your debt."

"No, you don't ha—"

She cut him off. "But please, Caleb, listen to me." Lightning struck in the distance. "I know you have your own plans. I don't care about those. But…please don't hurt him."

"Uh, what do you mean?" Caleb managed, a beat too delayed to sound natural.

Another crack of thunder boomed, and she just gave him a sad, knowing look.

 _…_

 _Caleb: I don't have a thing for Mollymauk_

 _Also Caleb: But it has been 42 hours, 33 minutes, 17 seconds and counting since we last touched, which is unacceptable._

 _A purple, gender fluid pansexual half-fiend embroidering flowers with his autistic, German bisexual wizard boyfriend is the future liberals want._

 _Commenters are my watermelon on the beach in summer, my daisies in summer, my heart-shaped Reese's peanut butter cups on valentine's day._


	15. Love Potion No Nein

**Chapter Fifteen:**

 _ **Love Potion No. Nein**_

 _*Stumbles in, bleeding and full of bullet holes*_

 _Thought you'd seen the last of me? Not even god could be so lucky._

' _She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink_

 _She said I'm gonna make it up right here in the sink_

 _It smelled like turpentine, it looked like Indian ink_

 _I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink'_

…

Caleb woke the next morning to find the bedroom empty. Last night's storm burned itself out, leaving a clear morning in its wake. The hearth's embers simmered beside him, and the low muffled din of the tavern's morning crowd leaked through the floorboards.

He pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Frumpkin shot him an irritated look before readjusting, nestling further into the Bahamut tapestry.

Last night stretched long, and sleep had been elusive. He'd spent most of his time curled up in a ball, trying to flush the warmth from his core back into his frozen fingers and toes and listening to Nott in the other room. Once or twice, another potion bottle shattered on her, but more often it was muffled cursing. So he laid on his side, hands tucked against his chest in the cold and dark trying to ignore every part of his brain and body that longed to go to her aid. Love was a muscle memory, it seemed. Or maybe in this case, more of a phantom limb.

In the early hours of the morning sleep came for him with a vengeance. Upon waking he realized he hadn't heard Fjord or Molly leave. Judging by the direction of the shadows, it was already mid-morning.

Groaning, he untangled himself from the tapestry and stood, stretching out so his back cracked. Even in his thirty-two-year-old body he was getting too old to sleep on floors. He pulled his jacket from the nest of fabric under his feet, shrugging it on gingerly around his bandaged shoulder.

He'd meant to ask Jester about his injuries last night, but she'd come home and regaled the group with stories from her day and how beautiful the palace was and how scary the countess was and how silly it was that not even clerics could use magic within the walls. Promptly after she passed out on her dinner plate, and Fjord carried her to bed.

So, he'd intended on asking her before she left in the morning for her next shift, but it seemed in keeping with tradition, yet another of his grand schemes had been foiled.

With a yawn, he left Frumpkin behind and stepped out into the hall.

"No rush, but I would absolutely love to get rid of this stuff as soon as possible," floated Molly's voice from further down.

"I'm working as fast as I can," Nott shot back.

Following the voice, Caleb found himself confronted with Nott's door pinned wide open, letting acrid, chemical fumes waft into the hall. He scanned the chaos: piles of empty potion bottles—all that glass was definitely a hazard—, pages from Lox's journal pinned to the walls with knives, alchemist tools scattered over the table and chairs, and…oh! Her small form popped into view from around the massive cauldron. Her dark hair stuck out in every direction, and her eyes were wide with panic as she sunk to her knees to dig through a pile of half-filled potion bottles.

"How do you feel?" she asked over her shoulder at someone Caleb couldn't see.

"Still dizzy. A little heat-stroke-ish," floated Molly's strained voice.

Nott dug around the ingredient-laden table, boney fingers dancing like the legs of a spider over piles of dried herbs and glass bottles. She pulled a half-empty glass vial out of the mess. "Try this," she said, scurrying across the room and out of Caleb's view.

The resulting pause was broken by the sound of Molly gagging. "Are you sure you're not trying to _intentionally_ poison me this go around?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Did it work?" she asked, voice edged with eagerness and desperation.

"'Fraid not."

Nott hissed a curse and crossed the room to resume her digging.

Caleb took a deep breath and stepped into the room. "Nott?" he asked, voice tenuous and strained.

She stiffened at the sound of his voice, hand frozen above a beaker. She swallowed hard, grit her jaw, then continued to work, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Nott, please," he whispered. "I need to know what's going—"

His sentence was broken off by the sight of one Mollymauk Tealeaf reclining against the nearest wall. He clutched a wooden bucket close to his chest, head bowed as if in prayer and eyes pressed shut. A fresh cut on his forearm leaked lazy droplets of blood onto the ground, and his scimitar was still red edged from the incision.

"Mol—ly?" Caleb asked, dragging the last syllable in confusion.

"Good morning, Caleb," Molly said, tone brightening but keeping his eyes pressed shut.

"What's going on? Why has Molly been poisoned?" Caleb asked them both.

Nott ignored him in favor fishing a half-filled glass vial from the messy table and pouring it into a larger glass bottle full of mysterious yellow chunks. Once combined, the two substances started to fizz and release a trickle of steam.

"Oh, I'm not the only one," he said cheerily. "You've missed _quite_ the exciting morning already. Earlier—" a roar of commotion from below cut him off.

"That sounded like Beauregard…" Caleb said, staring at the floorboards as if he could see through them.

"That's likely I'd imagine" Molly said.

Across the room, a steady stream of smoke now poured out of the potion. Nott took a step back.

Molly continued speaking. "You wouldn't believe—"

The glass bottle exploded with a deafening pop that sent a spray of liquid and glass across the room. Nott dropped to the floor, hands over her head. Caleb started, and Molly jumped back right into the wall behind him, dropping the bucket and losing his footing in the process so he collapsed to the ground with a loud thud.

Small glass pieces decorated the table where the bottle hand once been, and the last of the smoke drifted up to the ceiling in a fat sulfur-smelling cloud that dispersed on impact.

"Is everyone alright?" Caleb asked, hand over his racing heart.

Nott made an ambiguous grunt, pushed herself off the floor, and brushed several glass shards off her clothes.

"Depends on your definition," Molly said with a groan, blinking the stars out of his eyes and rubbing the back of his head.

Caleb offered him a hand.

Molly took it, meeting his gaze with a crooked grin. "Than—"

Nott whipped around, eyes wide. "Molly, don't look!"

But Molly sat on the floor, still holding Caleb's offered hand, face frozen in mild confusion. He blinked, eyes glazing over.

"Molly?" Caleb asked, urgency creeping into his voice as Molly's face paled. "Nott, what did you have him take?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her in panic.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. The tension in her jaw made her defeated sigh sound more like a hiss. " _Fuck_."

" _Nott!_ " Caleb shouted, voice rising in panic.

She winced at his voice, turning her back to him and leaning heavily onto the table, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Caleb opened his mouth to demand answers, but before he could Molly tugged on his hand, catching him by surprise as he pulled himself up at last.

"Molly, are you alright? What did you take?" Caleb asked, brows pressed in concern and mentally cycling through his limited potion knowledge as the tiefling righted himself.

Molly rubbed the back of his head, blinking in confusion with a small quirked frown. "I…I think I'm okay?"

Caleb took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. Panic wouldn't help anyone right now. "What did you take?" Caleb repeated.

"I took…" he trailed off staring into nothing, face scrunching. He ran a hand through his hair. "I took…" he repeated, even fainter the second time.

Leaving Molly to his bewilderment, Caleb crouched down next to the overturned bucket, where a rosey-pink liquid with a fruity smell was soaking into the floorboards. He dipped his pinky finger in, inspected it for a moment, then popped it in his mouth.

A chill shot up his spine, and a giddy manic energy bubbled up from his stomach to his throat. He clenched his jaw, but his teeth couldn't hold it back, and he barked a laugh before falling backwards.

Caleb blinked, taking a moment to compose himself before pushing himself up to a standing position. Well that was…something…

He opened his mouth to ask another question but was broken off when two hands curled around his torso from behind and a face nestled against the intersection of his neck and shoulder.

"Thank you for helping me up," Molly murmured into his shoulder. "I don't think I said that earlier."

Caleb stiffened.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

So _that's_ the kind of potion it was.

Shit.

A burning flush rose from his neck as he tried to untangle from Molly. "Excuse me, Molly, I need to—"

Molly pressed a hot kiss on the exposed sliver of his neck, and Caleb's heart rate shot into the atmosphere while his stomach dropped, leaving him breathless.

He had to get out of this situation. _Now_.

Carefully, as if he were untangling himself from poisonous snakes, Caleb pulled Molly's hands back then slipped out of his grip and darted for the exit. He jogged down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and almost slammed into Beau at the bottom.

"Woah, watch it man," she said, catching him by the shoulders to steady them both.

"Thank you," he said, taking a deep breath. "Molly has—" the sentence died on his lips as the full breadth of the inn's chaos struck him at once.

The chandelier swayed, tables and chairs had been flung aside, and overturned tankards spilled glistening ale on the bar, tainting the air with the smell of liquor. Wizened regulars lined the tavern, red-faced and teary-eyed from laughing. Couples dotted the room in various states of romantic entanglement, seemingly unaware of anyone or anything else, while a frazzled Rose tried to pry them apart with a broom. A massive throng of people crowded the door to the stockroom, pawing on it and moaning like a hoard of undead.

All this chaos was punctuated by a rather irate-looking Fjord, who'd been tied upside down to a wooden pillar nearby.

Caleb blinked. "You—the love philters you were using—how did this—?" He ran his hand through his hair and looked to Beau for answers.

"Well _someone_ ," she glared at Fjord behind her, "decided he didn't want to put the runoff barrel _outside_. With the _trash_. Where it was _supposed_ to go. But because it was 'too cold,' he left it by the back door. In the kitchen."

Fjord squirmed against the restraints. "Hey, it was raining last night, okay?" he protested.

Caleb took another steadying breath, still trying to process the situation. He was keenly aware of the sound of familiar leather boots with a slight heel padding down the stairs behind him. He ignored it and focused on Beau. "And how did it end up being served?"

Beau threw her hands up then gestured at the still-swarmed stockroom. "I don't know, Caleb, ask the damn bartender."

"Please help," called a mournful, muted, voice from the stockroom that sounded very much like Valentine.

Fjord squirmed more violently. "He needs help," he said, shades of genuine irritation and panic passing his face. With a spray of water, he summoned the Falchion to his still bound hands and then vanished in a poof of mist.

Beau cursed, spinning around, only to see Fjord reappear by the door, pushing the other thralls aside with his sword raised. "I'll save you!" he declared, voice booming and chivalrous.

Beau sprinted across the room in a blur and leapt onto his back, pulling them both down. "You're not actually in love with him, man," she growled, wrestling him into a choke hold and kicking the Falchion out of his hand so it skidded across the floor.

"Yes I am," Fjord insisted before summoning the Falchion back in his hand and disappearing into mist a second time.

Caleb took a hesitant step forward, hand hovering over his component bag as Beau tackled Fjord yet again. What could he—?

Hands snaked around his torso from behind, and Molly rested his head on Caleb shoulder with a light chuckle. The lazy curve of his horn pressed into Caleb's neck, point coming to rest just below his adam's apple.

Caleb stiffened, lungs frozen in a half-finished exhale.

"I leave for two minutes, and they're back to fighting again," Molly said with a grin, punctuating the complaint with several 'tsks' for good measure.

"You've been poisoned," Caleb managed amidst a mind full of static.

Molly chuckled, and Caleb could feel the vibrations in his chest, warm and rumbling. "I suppose I have," he said with an unconcerned grin.

Caleb looked away, unable to hold the weight of that soft gaze for more than a handful of seconds. He swallowed hard and focused on Beau wrestling Fjord back into submission.

"Can't you, uh, expel it? With your abilities?" Caleb asked, stumbling over his words and staring straight ahead. "That's what Nott was having you do, ya?"

"Oh, but being poisoned has never been this fun before," Molly said, and Caleb could hear that damn lazy smile in his voice. "Might as well take my thrills where I can get them."

…

Despite his familiarity with the elements, Caleb still found himself wholly unprepared for the experience of Ice Haven after a storm. The freezing rain had solidified on impact, encasing the city in a glittering sheet of ice.

Caleb waded through shin-high slush with Beau's messy shopping list in one hand and a 100-something-pound tiefling hanging off the other.

"It's a nice city, but I don't think I could ever live here," Molly said, looking at their frozen surroundings. "Not enough color."

"Too cold," Caleb added, weaving out of the way of an oncoming cart.

Molly grinned. "Oh, the cold's not so bad," he said, his words coming out in a puff of fog. The rosy blush across his cheeks and nose was the only evidence he felt the chill at all.

Caleb, on the other hand, was bundled up as well as he could manage, and every breath still felt like a punch in the lungs. It was why he'd stopped trying to untangle himself from Molly after the sixth attempt—he'd run out of energy, and Mollymauk was warm.

Yes. It was those two reasons exclusively.

Not the fact that Molly was witty and charming and made him forget, even momentarily, how shitty his current circumstances were. Or the fact that his wiry arms still had enough muscle to be felt through his coat. Or that snowflakes kept catching on his eyelashes.

Around them, Ice Haven residents broke open the frozen seal on their doors and windows and emerged out from their crystal prisons into the gentle daylight. It was almost beautiful. What would the long-term effects of this kind of weather have on the architectu-?

"Woah, watch it," Molly said and pulled Caleb out of the way of a spray of ice chunks from a window above and into his arms.

Caleb blinked, muscles tensing from the shock of warm arms wrapped around his waist. Molly's hot breath tickled his nose.

"Can you believe that?" Molly murmured, still holding Caleb tight. His gaze flicked down to Caleb's lips. "Some people are so inconsiderate," he breathed, leaning in.

Caleb inhaled, breath catching in his throat. Everything in his field of vision went lavender, and all the reasons why that was dangerous seemed distant and muted now.

To their left, an icicle fell to the ground, pelting their legs with pebble-sized shrapnel.

With that, the spell was shattered, and Caleb's heart roared back to life, beating frantically for all the time it'd been still. He squirmed out of Molly's arms, putting a hand on Molly's chest to steady himself and keep him at a controlled distance. "No no no no no," Caleb said, taking deep, calming breaths. "This isn't right," he managed.

Snowflakes flurried around them like a swarm of bees.

Molly put his hands up in surrender, flashing Caleb a toothy grin. "Guilty as charged! But in my defense, you look awfully cute when you're embarrassed."

Caleb felt his face go hot. That crooked smile was familiar, but the molten warmth in his eyes, crinkled from his grin, was new, and Caleb was breaking under it. Burning.

 _Melting._

But he couldn't melt. Because if he did, all that would remain was ash and bones, and those weren't of particular use to anyone.

Romance could only ever be a distraction. And even if his ultimate goal hadn't informed his every decision for years, he was too full of jagged edges to allow anyone that close. Too much collateral damage. Too much risk.

He knew this—it was one of his horrible truths he kept locked in a vault deep in his chest—but repeating that mental mantra to himself failed to quell the nervous jitters in his stomach. So they simmered there, waiting and hungry.

Molly gave him a hopeful half-grin. "Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm for them to continue.

"Y-yeah," Caleb managed, stepping forward but shuffling past Molly's offered arm. "Let's keep going. Make sure you're keeping an eye out for Yasha." He kept his eyes forward.

"Naturally," Molly said, sounding slightly crestfallen as he caught up to walk with Caleb.

They wove through Ice Haven's frosted streets towards the market district—watching for their AWOL barbarian all the while. She'd wandered off that morning, and no one was sure if she had consumed some of the love philter or if she was just off following the whims of the Storm Lord.

He'd tried calling to her with Sending earlier.

' _Yasha, are you okay? Where are you? You can respond to this message.'_

' _I'm okay.'_

He blew another spell slot.

' _Where are you?'_

' _Oh, by some sort of house, I think.'_

Helpful. At least they knew she was okay; now it was just a matter of finding her.

They'd been to the market district once before—the day Lox died—but covered in crystal even the familiar potion shop in the distance looked glittering and new.

The buildings in the market district were pushed close together, as if huddling for warmth themselves. The alluring smell of cooked meat drifted from a nearby tavern. Sleepy Ice Haven natives milled through the streets, fur-lined coats pulled up to their noses. Some took their time, browsing each merchants array of wares, while others plowed through the hawking sellers without so much as a glance.

As they wove through the chaos a bony hand grabbed at Caleb's sleeve.

He whipped around to find a pasty salesman leaning half-way over his stall. "You look like people of great taste. Surely necks as regal as those could only be enhanced by trinkets such as these," he gestured to the wide array of glistening jewelry around him. On several, the gold plating was already beginning to flake. Mollymauk's eyes went wide with interest.

"Oh please, tell me about your wares," he said, enraptured.

"Molly," Caleb murmured in warning.

"Well, _these_ ," the salesman gestured to the row of rings at the front, "came all the way from the merchant princes' caravans in Marquet."

"Oh, tell me more."

With every expression of interest, a grin stretched the salesman's face wider and wider. To Caleb's knowledge, goblin-human hybrids weren't possible, but this man, with his bulging eyes and folds of skin in all the wrong places, made him question that assumption.

"And these," the man said, showing his last row of necklaces, "are my most rare, my most precious treasures. Only for the most discerning customers."

"And why is that?" Molly asked enraptured, tail flicking behind him so intently that Caleb had to move out of its way.

"Because," the goblin-man said in a whisper. "These pendants are _magic_."

"No!" Molly gasped.

"You're overdoing it," Caleb mumbled, but Molly ignored him.

"Yes!" The man cried. "This one is enchanted to keep your skin clear as a summer's day, this one will make all who look at you fall in love with you, this one promises wealth, and this one will keep you young and beautiful for all your days."

"Oh I've developed a habit at this point of dying young and beautiful," Molly confessed. "So I'm not sure how helpful that last one would be."

"No matter, no matter! Today and today only, Sebold the Wonder Peddler can offer you any two of these great necklaces, worth one whole gold piece each, for only twenty silver!"

Molly opened his mouth, but Caleb dragged him away.

"Buy ten, get one half off' special, today only!" Sebold called after them in desperation.

"Oh, what exquisite bullshit it all was," Molly crooned as they left Sebold a pale speck in the distance. "His pitch could use work though."

Caleb hummed in acknowledgement, privately wondering what sort of idiot would sincerely think a single thing from that stall was magical.

Molly went quiet for a while as they wove through the last dredges of the market district.

"I...apologize, Caleb," he said at last, breaking the silence between them.

"Oh?" Caleb asked over his shoulder as he dodged an overeager salesman gesturing wildly at his collection of eyeless fish. "Don't apologize, the salesman was just—"

"No, before that," he clarified, "I can be...impulsive," Molly said, chewing on his words, "But I know you're not the most physical person, so I should have—"

"It's alright, Mollymauk," Caleb said. "You've been poisoned. It's not your fault."

Molly gave a noncommittal hum. They stepped around a gnomish man and his gaggle of small, laughing children.

Caleb sighed. Maybe he was approaching the situation the wrong way. Mollymauk, his good _friend_ , had been poisoned. Nature of that poison aside, the best Caleb could do for him was watch over him until either the tincture ran its course or Nott found the antidote. Make sure he didn't do anything he'd…regret when he returned to his senses. The last thing he needed was to lose his final ally by letting him get too familiar while drugged. Grand strategies and plots aside, Molly deserved more than that.

Caleb absently traced the fresh embroidery on his sleeve.

Steeling himself, he grabbed Molly's hand, lacing their fingers. A way to control the distance.

Molly looked up at him in surprise.

"Stay close, alright? I will, uh, help you through this as best I can," Caleb said, turning away as he realized how corny that sounded as he said it.

Molly's snow-flushed cheeks stretched in a Cheshire grin, a self-satisfied twinkle in his eye. "Oh with pleasure."

…

Normally, it was easy to hunt down Yasha in a crowded area. She cast enough of a shadow that onlookers took note. But as it turned out, tall women clad in black and white weren't in short supply in Ice Haven. And after an hour of following false leads, they stumbled upon her by pure luck as she carried an armful of lumber through a residential street.

Their time in Ice Haven had coaxed a flush from even her pallid complexion, and snow collected on her dark hair. She started when she saw them. "Oh, hello," she said, still holding her planks.

"How are you feeling on this fine morning, Yasha? Lovestruck and breathless?" Molly asked with a teasing smile.

She stared at their locked arms. "Uhh, not so much, no. Not anymore."

"Not anymore?" Caleb pressed.

She shrugged. "Yeah, no. I think I was for a bit, but it wore off pretty quickly." She looked at Molly. "Did you…?" She mimed chugging a pint.

"When have I ever abstained from a good drink?" he asked. "But believe it or not I was helping our lovely alchemist this morning, and wouldn't you know it things didn't go according to plan." He tutted in exaggerated remorse before flashing Caleb a grin.

She nodded. "So you're still…?" She took a pointed look at their entwined arms.

"Deeply infatuated with our wonderful wizard? Absolutely," he said with a wide grin, patting Caleb on the back—who flushed a vibrant red in turn.

Yasha gave Caleb's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "Watch out for him until it passes, alright?"

Caleb could only nod.

"Decided to start a craft project, then?" Molly asked with a raised eyebrow, taking a pointed look at her stack of wood.

Yasha shifted from foot to foot. "Yeah well, the woman I ended up…" she chewed on her words for a moment, "...following, she, uh, needed a hand fixing some things around her house, so..." she trailed off with a shrug and nodded towards a woman several houses down the road, kneeling by her front door with nails in her mouth.

The woman waved.

Molly waved back.

"Apparently one of the walls of her house collapsed a couple nights ago. Just turned straight to dust. So I thought I might stick around for a few hours and help out, ya know? It felt weird to stop halfway."

Caleb flinched. He'd thought this street looked familiar.

"Well, it's good that you're alright," he said. "Did you want to come shopping with us? The others were going to do it, but it seems in all the chaos the task has fallen to us."

"No, that's alright. I trust your judgement. Don't let Molly get me anything too flashy," she said.

Caleb snorted. "I think it would be easier to divert a river from its course."

"Well said!" Molly said, beaming and patting Caleb on the arm.

Swallowing down his rising blush, Caleb addressed Yasha. "We'll be a couple streets over. If you need anything or our friends," he glanced at the nearest alley, "make a reappearance, shout and head our way."

She agreed, and they were off.

He took a moment to let Beau know.

' _We found Yasha. She's safe. Going to run errands. Do you need us to come back or pick anything up?'_

And after a brief pause, came the stiff reply.

' _No.'_

He wished he could see Beau as she said that. Wished he knew if that tone was residual anger from the revelation three days ago, or from stress from the current circumstances, or if something was legitimately going wrong back at The Tipsy Seal and she was being too prideful to ask for his help. But he didn't know, so all he could do was keep moving forward.

...

They entered Ms. Washmiggle's Potion Emporium to the sound of Molly's gasp. "Oh I'm sure Nott loved this place," he said, taking in the high, towering shelves and displays of sparkling potions as rainbow and glittering as himself.

"She did," Caleb confirmed, gently leading Molly by the hand through the aisles as he devoured the spectacle.

"Oh I bet there's all sorts of fun to be had here," Molly said, a mischievous grin growing at as he ran a clawed hand across a row of firey potions that boiled without heat. His rings clinked on the glass like music.

Caleb pulled them through a throng of patrons clustered around a display of orange potions that gave off a pleasant, radiant warmth. "Focus, Molly," he said without malice.

"Oh, there's a cosmetics section."

Caleb gave a relenting sigh. "Only five minutes while I talk to the clerk, alright? We still have errands to run."

"Oh you spoil me, darling," Molly said, planting a quick kiss on Caleb's temple with a laugh before vanishing into the aisles.

Caleb froze in place, his mind careening off the tracks it clung to. The previously subdued electricity in his gut jumped to life, flooding his body with giddy, jittery energy, his temple at the epicenter. It made him want to run laps, melt, and vomit all at the same time.

He'd forgotten, just for a moment, that Mollymauk was drugged. They'd fallen into their usual routine. Casual, comfortable conversation. Mild teasing. It was so easy to forget that Molly was deeply and desperately in love with him. Temporarily.

Before Caleb could fully drown himself in his own self-loathing, an aging halfling woman tugged at his elbow. "Something I can help you find, son?" she asked. Her frizzy hair was tamed back into a bun, and there was a small crack in her brass-framed spectacles.

"Ah, yes, actually," Caleb said, reigning in his emotional whiplash. "You are the proprietor, yes?"

"Yes, sir. At your service," Ms. Washmiggle said with a nod.

"So I have a, uh, friend, who wants to make someone fall in love with her," Caleb said, plowing forward as if it would somehow get his thoughts under control. "She wanted to know what would happen if she combined two love philters."

Ms. Washmiggle chewed her cheek. "Well I can't say I'd recommend it. There's a difference between herbal balms and true potions. True potions have bits of magic in them, and tend to have...unpredictable consequences when tampered with." She said frowning. "My uncle tried combining two strength potions one day and blew himself and his neighbors on both sides to high heaven."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She shrugged. "You live and you learn. Or you don't. That's how it is."

Caleb frowned. "So if she did combine them, do you have any idea how long it would last?"

"Love philters are powerful but short-lived—otherwise everyone would be using them. Typically, they last about fifteen minutes."

"And combined?"

She frowned. "Like I said, there's no telling with potions. Could kill the person instantly. Could make the effects last forever."

Caleb's mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard. "Forever," he repeated.

She nodded. "However, if your friend wants to avoid potentially killing the object of her desire, it would be safer if she used the standard dosage. It would be expensive over time, but I offer installment plans," she said with a wink.

Forever. _Forever_. What would he do if Molly was in love with him forever? Granted, if his long-suffering plan finally bore fruit, forever for Molly would end within the next forty-eight hours.

He felt sick. "Is there an antidote?" he asked, mouth dry.

"Why would anyone bother making an antidote for a harmless potion that lasts fifteen minutes?"

"I see your point," Caleb said, feeling pale.

"Honestly, I don't think you have anything to worry about, hun," she said conspiratorially.

He blinked. "Sorry?"

"Oh I was young once too," she said, elbowing him in hip with a grin. "That tiefling is over the moon about you, clear as day. No potion required."

"It appears that way," he said joylessly. He needed to sit down.

"Well, here." She looked around for a moment before grabbing a small bottle of amber liquid off a nearby shelf. "Consider this a gift."

Caleb took it, staring at in his palm. "Ah, thank you? Is this—?"

"Oh it's not a potion. It's for chafing," she said with a wink.

Caleb blanched. "I—no! We're not—! It's not—!" Hot blood flooded back into his face.

A purple hand snatched it out of his open palm. "Oh this is fabulous, thank you, love," Molly said, holding the golden liquid up into the sunlight before pocketing it. And suddenly he was back, all rainbows and crooked smiles and smelling of old incense. He twined around Caleb's arm. "Ready?" he asked.

He nodded and let himself be guided out of the store and into the frozen street beyond. The ice encasing the city was beautiful earlier, but now he saw that the buildings were not decorated but trapped. Like overnight someone had taxidermized the city and set it under a glass case.

Molly pulled him off to the side of the street. "Are you alright?" He looked him over with concern. "You've gone pale."

Caleb shied away from the scrutiny. "I am pale."

" _Caleb_."

Caleb swallowed. What could he say? The truth? That he was distressed he'd only have the privilege of Molly's company for two days more before abandoning him to the whims of fate—who'd never been kind to him in the first place—and that during those two days, Molly might not even be himself. Just a cruel shadow.

After a pause long enough to hold eternity, "Just tired," he said.

Molly's eyes narrowed, cherubic lips quirked into a frown. "Now you're going to need a little more confidence to sell a lie like that, darling."

"I'm worried…I'm worred that when you… _return_ to your senses you'll hate me," Caleb said. Half-truths he could do. Half-truths were safe. "And I'm even more worried you'll be like this forever."

Molly blinked. "Oh is that all?"

Caleb recoiled.

"Hey, wait," Molly held him in place. "I'm sure our lovely resident alchemist will find a cure by sundown if she hasn't already. You believe in Nott, right?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, going still.

"Fantastic. Then there's that problem solved," he said and moved his hands to cup Caleb's face.

His palms were warm and smooth, and Caleb could feel the cool indent of rings brushing the end of his jaw. He went rabbit-still under the full weight of Molly's molten attention.

No one had thought him worth a look like that in decades.

"Mr. Caleb, you have given me several opportunities to hate you, and I have ignored all of them. Why would I start now?" He brushed a thumb over Caleb's cheek.

It took every ounce of strength Caleb had not to lean into the gesture. "Even a saint's forgiveness has limits, Mollymauk," he murmured, too mesmerized and too resigned to avert his eyes.

Mollymauk's face split in a wolfish grin. "Ah, it's an awfully good thing I'm not a saint, then."

…

Caleb had a vague understanding of fashion. Don't combine patterns, be careful about wearing colors too close to each other in hue, and the first two rules were optional if you had enough confidence—as exemplified by one Mollymauk Tealeaf.

While his confidence allowed him to flourish in twelve different patterns and fifty different colors, that ability was not, in fact, miraculously granted to his teammates by proximity.

"How about this?" Molly asked, holding up a swathe of rose-pink fabric.

"What is it exactly?" Caleb asked, looking up from the cloaks he rifled through.

"A sash I believe," he said, tying it around his waist experimentally.

"Scarf," corrected a narrow-faced man eyeing them from the front counter, trying to riddle out why two foreigners in travel-worn garb were plaguing his fine establishment. He eyed Molly's carnival glass scimitars with unease.

"Oh that's no fun," Molly said, already tying a second scarf around his waist.

Around them hung various articles in dark or jewel tones, brocades with abstracted wave patterns, and fur-lined coats and cloaks made of ermine, fox, and the whitest hare. Clear sunlight filtered in through the back window, catching on the finer embroidery kept behind the front counter and away from over-eager hands. Among such finery and decadence, even the omnipresent cold decided to check itself at the door.

Caleb referenced the crumpled shopping list where Beau had scribbled out several hasty clothing requests. He had nothing to go on size-wise except his own memory, but thankfully the Ice Haven denizens preferred more formless, straight, or A-line clothing. It was difficult to parade one's figure while wearing the necessary layers of fur required for survival. That didn't, however, stop Mollymauk and his scarves from trying.

"What do you think of this?" Caleb held up a black tunic, heavy with brocade. "For Fjord?"

Molly's nose wrinkled, but his smile remained. "Oh, who are we burying?"

Caleb snorted. "What would you dress him in?" he asked, eyebrow quirked in challenge.

Molly took a moment to scour the store before ending up in the women's section and pulling a bright orange overcoat with flying cranes decorating the bottom half.

"I think even if you could convince him to wear that, it wouldn't fit his shoulders," Caleb said.

Molly let the overcoat drop with a sigh. "That's unfortunate. It appears we might have to do the unthinkable, Mr. Caleb: cooperate," he said with faux seriousness.

Caleb bit back a smile. "It seems so, Mr. Mollymauk."

Rows of multicolored fabric, quiet debates, and gentle teasing filled the next hour, along with more electric moments than Caleb could bear. It was the gentle brushing of fingertips as they reached for the same coat, the way Molly trailed his hand across Caleb's shoulder blades as he passed by, and Molly's quiet, contented smiles that only intensified when Caleb caught him staring. It was like being struck by lightning.

And worst of all, some godforsaken, traitorous corner in his brain was beginning to like it.

Fjord and Yasha were the easiest to shop for. It took a moment to find something to fit Beau's sensibilities, but after searching they pinned down an outfit with loose pants.

Nott was tricky—it had to be something her size, but everything child-sized was too infantile for a grown woman, and the clothing store specializing in smaller races sat on the other side of town. After deliberation, a tunic became a dress—girth wrangled into submission by one of Molly's scarf-sashes.

For Jester, they found a rose and cream brocade dress tucked in a corner of the store. It wasn't as flouncey as she'd like, but if she stuffed the petticoats she already owned underneath, perhaps it'd suffice.

Molly leaned on the front counter. "What's the gaudiest thing you have?"

The clerk bristled. "I do not sell gaudy things, _sir_. This is a reputable establishment."

"Indulge me," Molly said, propping his chin on his hands while his tail swayed behind him.

"We are fully willing to pay," Caleb added over the mound of clothes he carried.

With an abused sigh, the clerk vanished into the back and appeared several minutes later with a layered robe, bloated with embroidery and heavy with pearl beads strung along the edges. It smelled strongly of dust and age.

Molly's eyes lit up. "Oh it's hideous. I love it," he said already reaching for the garment.

The clerk ground his jaw and handed it over.

"And, what's the price on this one?" Caleb asked.

The clerk spat out a price like it was an insult, valuing it three times higher than any other article in the store.

Molly ran a hand over the embroidery with cheeky delight. He opened his mouth, but Caleb put a hand on his arm before he could accept.

"I think we'll keep looking for the moment, thank you," Caleb said, and the clerk jerked the robe away and vanished to the back.

Molly turned on him with a look of exaggerated betrayal.

"For that price, Mollymauk, we can get you many, many gaudy things," he murmured.

Molly sighed. "What's the point of money if you don't—"

"Use it, I know," Caleb continued, "but there's a difference between spending money poorly and spending money wisely."

"I make a point of never doing anything wisely."

Caleb chuckled. "This I know too. How about this: if we cannot find anything better elsewhere before the end of the day, we can come back."

"You drive a hard bargain, but I suppose I can be coerced into spending more time with a handsome wizard on my arm," Molly said with an innocent smile that made Caleb choke on air.

"I—we'll see if you still feel that way before the day is up," he managed.

They canvased the store one last time, picking up scarves and stockings and anything else they'd missed the first time. The collection of shoes on offer was meager at best, but as he turned to remark upon it to Molly, he'd found he'd disappeared.

"Look what I found," came his smooth voice from the opposite side, causing Caleb to jump. Molly held a deep blue tunic with orange-gold trim.

"It's too much, Mollymauk. I'll find something...simpler," he said. He hadn't worn anything that nice in years.

"Because you want something simpler or because you don't think you deserve something like this?" Molly asked without malice.

Caleb swallowed hard, shrinking under the scrutiny. "It's fine, I just don't—"

"Because I might have already bought it. So if you don't like it because it's not your taste, we can return it, but if you don't like it because you don't like spending money on yourself, then this shouldn't be a problem, right?"

Caleb cringed. "You didn't have to. You're drugged, I shouldn't have let you—"

Molly cut him off. "Then just pay me back when the potion wears off," he said easily.

"I doubt you'll let me even then."

"You're absolutely correct."

Caleb took the tunic, handling it as if he'd get it dirty by touch alone. "Thank you, Molly."

He beamed.

They purchased an armful of clothing and only when seventy gold pieces were placed on the counter did the clerk's demeanor melt into something pleasant. With the clothing folded, wrapped in parchment, and strung together, the clerk gave them directions to the nearest cobbler and suggestions to where they might find masks. Most of the masquerade's invitees had commissioned custom masks months ago, and the leather worker was likely sold out as well. The clerk suggested they try the nearby theater, as they were in the process of revamping their play roster and had plans to auction off the old costumes in a week or so.

They had luck with the cobbler, and after greasing a palm or two, they were allowed access to the theater's back room. Crated costumes filled the narrow space, and a tall window illuminated streaks of dust.

With an easy motion with his scimitars, Molly popped the lid off several crates and was shoulder-deep in beading and iridescent fabric just as quickly. "Oh, this is just like the circus," he said with delight, withdrawing a stylized oni mask with curling bottom tusks and regarding it for a moment before tossing it aside. It cracked as it hit the ground.

"Anything you find I should be able to clean with prestidigitation," Caleb said, eyeing the makeup stains on the inside of the broken mask.

Molly hummed in acknowledgement. "You know, Mona and Yuli were in a theater troupe before they joined the circus," he said, mostly to himself as he dropped another mask on the pile.

Caleb's face scrunched as he blew the cobwebs off his memory. "They were the halfling women, ya?"

Molly nodded.

"Why did they leave the theater?"

"Something about a nasty ex running them out of town. Couldn't tell you if that was the truth or not, but with a story that interesting it might as well be."

"Do you miss it? The circus?"

"Oh of course. But just because you miss something or somewhere doesn't mean going back is the right choice," he said pointedly.

Caleb stayed quiet.

He hung against the wall as Molly continued to dig through crates, withdrawing one, then ten, then twenty masks and throwing them in a pile. Once every several minutes, he'd throw some interesting bobble or accessories aside before continuing the hunt.

Caleb was content to stay silent and watch. Narrow fingers danced over worn embroidery and squished feathers. Caleb couldn't divine rhyme or reason as to what made something tacky enough for Molly's keep pile, though he did notice that when Molly found something he liked, his tail swayed faster for just a fraction of a second.

It was cute, honestly.

He wondered if that was a tell. Next time they played cards, he'd—there wouldn't be a next time. Clammy remorse tangled around his guts with frozen fingers. Tomorrow was the day of the heist. And, if things went right, the day of his second jump. He had less than thirty-four hours left with the Mighty Nein, and most of those would be stolen by sleep and heist preparation.

A familiar hollowness returned to his chest.

Molly leaned deep into a crate before him, taking a moment to shoot Caleb a smirk over his shoulder. "Enjoying the view?"

Caleb swallowed the lump in his throat and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I…don't think it would be in good taste to ogle my drugged friend, Mollymauk."

Molly snorted and dug deeper into the crate, his entire upper body disappearing into a multi-colored fabric sea. "Good taste is far overrated," came the muffled reply. "And absolutely no fun at all."

The growing smile withered on Caleb's face as a pang of ache shot through his chest. Preemptive grief for the upcoming loss. Maybe he should finally take some of Molly's advice and live for the day. After all, the day was all they had.

…

They emerged from the theater with a collection of Molly's treasures and stepped onto the street in the midst of sunset. Gilded sunbeams stretched through amber clouds and lingered in the ice around them, turning the city into liquid gold.

On their way to Yasha, they stopped at a small, open air restaurant where a half-orc served noodles at the counter. They slid onto a pair of empty stools near the end.

"Ah, what a pity we won't be able to see the look on Fjord's face when the potion wears off. Oh, I would pay good money for that," Molly hummed as they waited for their food.

Caleb chuckled at the thought. "He'll go white as a sheet."

"Or bright red," Molly countered. "Mumble some excuse. Shuffle away. Refuse to make eye contact with anyone for an hour or two."

Caleb nodded in agreement, allowing himself a soft smile until a new, cold thought settled in his stomach. "And you're sure you won't regret this day too?"

Molly gave him an appraising look and took a rare moment to compose his thoughts. The half-orc placed their bowls in front of them, but they went ignored.

At last, Molly spoke. "I've made a point to regret very little, now that I've had a second chance, Mr. Caleb. I don't regret things that've made me happy, and today has made me happy."

Caleb stared at his soup. "I see."

"Caleb, look at me."

He did.

"Were you happy today?"

"I think I…it wasn't so bad."

Molly gasped in faux offense, placing a hand over his chest. "Wasn't so bad? I take you on a whirlwind shopping tour of the city, treat you to dinner, buy you the finest robes, and all I get is 'it wasn't so bad'?"

Caleb bit back a sad smile. "I'm not letting you pay for dinner too."

Molly ignored that, and continued on, "What next?" He gestured around them. "If I give you a branch from a golden tree, or pluck the moon from the sky for you, would that make it an 'okay' date?"

"Stop," Caleb said with a small laugh, bumping their shoulders together. "It was good, Mollymauk."

"Ah, the truth at last." Satisfied, Molly started on his dinner, taking a moment to calibrate to the chopsticks.

Caleb stared down into the amber liquid in his bowl, pale noodles floating just beneath the surface like a school of eels. Molly had given him so many gifts, both in life and in death. The periapt, motivation, perspective, sympathy, embroidery, and now, unwittingly, a final parting gift: one last golden day.

…

By the time the trio arrived back at The Tipsy Seal, the sun had long since sunken past the mountainous horizon.

Only a few quiet patrons remained, nursing half-empty tankards and playing cards. There were no signs of their friends or any of that morning's mess—except for maybe a claw mark or two on the stockroom door.

Valentine manned the bar, yawning as they came over. "Late night shopping, huh?" he asked, eyeing their armloads of packages. He lowered his voice. "Prepping for the big day tomorrow, huh?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked grin.

Caleb nodded then looked back to Molly and Yasha. "You two go on ahead."

Molly watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Let's go, Yasha. You heard the man," he said, looping an arm around her waist as the two headed for the stairs.

Valentine gave a lazy wave goodbye.

"How did you fare today?" Caleb asked.

"Who? Me? Oh, you mean the love philter thing," he said, blinking in realization. "Yeah, that was my bad. Total whoopsie daisy, ya know? A bartender accidentally drugging half the inn? Rose didn't fire me for it, though." He frowned, looking at the bar with brows pressed together. "Or maybe she did but hasn't told me yet. Shit." He ran a hand through his white hair, elongated elven ears pointing downwards in distress.

"The owner seems like a reasonable woman. I doubt she would fire you for such an honest mistake," Caleb said, then plowed forward. "I wanted to ask how long it took for the potion to wear off? Is there anyone still under the influence?"

Valentine sucked on his lip in thought. "It took about three hours, I think. Everyone just kinda wandered away at one point or another, so I assumed it wore off? I guess no one specifically told me 'I am no longer in love with you' though," he said, tapping a finger on his chin.

Caleb massaged his forehead. "And you are sure no one was poisoned after three hours. No one."

"I mean, I was until you said it like that. Why?"

Caleb sighed and leaned onto the bar to support his weight. Had Molly been lying the whole day, or was he the exception to the rule? Molly had always been exceptional, but he was also almost as big a liar as Caleb.

Caleb groaned, resting his forehead on the counter. He didn't want to think about the implications of Molly being drugged or not drugged or lying or, worst case scenario, telling the truth.

"Nightcap?" Valentine offered, setting a small glass by Caleb's head. "It's on the house."

Caleb took it with a sigh.

"Your necklace came out of your shirt," Valentine said, nodding towards Caleb's chest.

He looked down, expecting so see the periapt for a fraction of a second, but it was only his worn bronze anti-scrying amulet.

"Thanks," Caleb said, tucking it back where it belongs.

"Is it magical?" Valentine asked, head cocked.

"Sentimental," he said, lying easily.

Valentine nodded. "Makes sense."

"Is yours?" Caleb asked, taking a swig of his nightcap and nodding towards Valentine's necklace. The one with the bitemarks on the chain.

Valentine grinned, chest puffing up at that. "Oh yeah, for suresies. Can't you tell what it does?" He planted his hands on his hips, striking a pose to let Caleb fully observe him.

"It uh…" Caleb searched for an answer in the tacky pendant but found none, "keeps you from being poisoned?" he offered at last.

"Well," Valentine said breaking his pose with an eager expression. "The necklace is keeping me young and beautiful forever." He pointed at an equally-tacky ring on his index finger. "This ring is supposed to make something very lucky happen to me in the future, and this other ring is supposed to make me very rich in the future. I got a really good deal on the set," he said proudly.

Ah.

"And how much, exactly, did you pay for the set?" Caleb asked as the mental pieces clicked into place.

Valentine sucked on his cheek. "Oh, a whoooole lot, but you can't argue with these results, right?"

Caleb looked the bartender over. He was scrawny, his pale hair was thinning, and if the fine lines forming at the corners of his features were anything to go by, the necklace had never worked. "Did you buy your jewelry from a man named Sebold?" he asked at last.

"You know Sebold the Wonder Peddler?" Valentine asked, eyes going wide with excitement. "He gave me a whole five copper discount for being a frequent customer on the last ring I bought."

Caleb bit back a comment on how Valentine had probably wasted multiple paychecks on fake magical items. What was it that Molly always said? Let people have their harmless bullshit. "He must be a very nice man," he said at last, offering the empty glass back to Valentine, who nodded contentedly in return.

"Good luck tomorrow, alright? Show those Sharkfins who's boss," Valentine said quietly as Caleb excused himself from the bar.

Caleb bid him a good night and travelled up the stairs to find the entire party collapsed in a pile in the center of Nott's room. Yasha and Molly had already added themselves to the tangle, that day's purchases abandoned on the bed. Yasha rested her head on Beau's calf with Molly tucked into her side, using his coat as a blanket.

The sharp chemical smell of the room had dissipated, but the surrounding piles of potion bottles and half-used ingredients remained. On the table sat a vial of nearly clear liquid with a note in Nott's scratchy hand:

' _Molly, do not drink!'_

Jester had added several floating skulls around for emphasis. He didn't know if Nott had managed to find an antidote for the love philters or if she even needed to, but she had managed despite all odds to finish the special poison required for tomorrow.

If this happened a week ago, he would've crawled next to her. The movement would've woken her up, so he would've told her how brilliant she was for accomplishing such a feat, praised her hours of hard labor. With a sleepy smile, she would nod, pretending she was lucid enough to understand a word he said, then they would've fallen asleep just like that.

But that was last week, and this was now. The wound had been carved and cauterized. Another bridge burned.

Dying embers simmered in the fireplace, and cool moonglow illuminated a long stretch of the floor from the frost-fogged window. He stoked the embers with the iron poker, watching the sparks escape like scattering bugs. The metal felt heavy in his hand.

"Caleb," Molly's voice called, drifting softly across the room.

The embers flickered before him, pulsing with their arrhythmic glow.

"Caleb," he called again.

Caleb turned at last.

Molly watched him, propped up into a sitting position courtesy of Beau's back. "We're going to have a long day tomorrow," he murmured.

Caleb could only nod. The day had slipped through his fingers like sand.

Molly gestured at the empty stretch of floor beside him and Yasha.

Holding back a sigh, Caleb stepped over the maze of legs sprawled out on the floor and seated himself near Molly, careful to keep several inches between them.

Molly frowned at that, tail flicking once in agitation. His face relaxed as he closed his eyes with an exaggerated yawn. His arms stretched up, then with a practiced motion he wrapped one around Caleb shoulders and one around Yasha.

Caleb couldn't help leaning into the familiar contact. Molly's warm arm felt good against his cold neck, and a fraction of the tension left his shoulders under the comforting weight.

"You've tried this trick before," Caleb murmured in weak protest.

Molly smiled, eyes still closed. "I'll stop trying it once it stops working."

"Thank you, Mollymauk."

"Always," he answered softly.

Minutes ebbed past, and soon Molly's breathing fell into pattern with his sleeping companions, but memories of the day kept Caleb awake.

He glanced toward Molly out of the corner of his eye, and his heart jumped. Quiet moonlight illuminated the curves and angles of his face, while the warm firelight from behind caught in his hair and jewelry. His lashes were long against his lavender cheeks, his dark mouth ever so slightly agape.

Here, in this moment, Mollymauk was the most beautiful person Caleb had ever seen. A spot of unrelenting joy no matter how grim and complicated the situation became.

He tore his eyes away, placing a hand over his heart and grabbing a fistful of shirt in absence of a periapt.

This was terrible.

Today had been wonderful.

And because of that, it was terrible.

Terrible because, even when magically induced, Molly's love wasn't a different beast than his friendship. It was an extension of it. Conversation. Playful ribbing. And then a kiss every once and a while.

Awful. Terrible. Horrible.

Because now he knew the exact flavor of the joy he must abstain from. The traitorous, nebulous desire had irrevocably taken shape, and his lips were stained wine-dark with the knowledge. For the rest of his miserable days, he'd be able to picture with perfect clarity Mollymauk staring at him with absolute adoration. Molly's kisses. His casual touches. That soft look that could melt Ice Haven itself and leave him breathless and full of wonder.

Times like this convinced him his Strongest Spell had sentience. His formula had been airtight. His theory perfect. His runes immaculate. And despite it all, it'd found ways to work against him. Send him back a day too early, to save a dead man who should've stayed buried. To reignite his long-burning love for his friends. To show what new love he might possess if only he could forgo his goals.

But he couldn't.

And it knew.

So it drove the knife deeper, and he did nothing but squirm on the blade.

Night passed. And then, after all their preparation, it was the day of the heist.


	16. Anacrusis

**Chapter 16:**

 **Anacrusis**

 **...**

"Caleb."

He shifted, blinking away his nightmares in a groggy haze. Molly's sleeping form pressed hot into his side while the cold of the room hung on the rest of him like a weight.

Jester hovered over them wearing the uniform of a palace medic, her curly hair tamed back under a bandana wedged beneath her horns.

"Let me look at your shoulder," she whispered into the still morning.

He extracted himself from the pile. Molly's eye cracked open for a brief moment before finding Jester with him. Satisfied, he wrapped his newly free arm around Yasha and returned to sleep.

In the glow of the pale morning light, Jester towed Caleb out into the hall.

With fingers stiff from sleep, he pulled his coat off then unbuckled the top portion of his tunic, exposing his bandaged arm to the biting cold. Brown blood stained the wraps.

She looked at the wounds with a frown. "You should have let me fix this earlier," she chided.

"There… wasn't a good time," he said at last, beginning to unwrap his shoulder.

"That's not a very good excuse."

"I know."

The slice across his neck from the garrote had mutated into a line of patchy scabs, and the tear across his upper arm glowed red and hot with the beginning of infection.

Jester mumbled her incantation, channeling her faith into a tangible crackle of magic between them.

"You know I don't blame you, Caleb," she said, breaking the winter's silence.

Caleb swallowed hard. She could be referring to any number of his trespasses, but he wasn't planning on accepting sympathy for any of them. The lazy shadows of snowflakes drifted down them and across the floor.

"I think… if I were in your position… I would do the same thing…" she said, half to herself. "I love my mama very much."

"You are… a better person than me, Jester. I don't think you would," he said as her magic knit his flesh back together.

"That's only because I haven't had to do anything hard."

"Perhaps," he conceded because her eyes were gentle and her heart was soft, and he couldn't bear to spend his last day here debating her own inherent goodness.

…

All accounted for, they poisoned fifteen people.

There was a local haunt near the palace that staff frequented on their lunch breaks—including the palace doctor and Tomoe's personal chef.

They went in wearing different faces. Beau and Fjord faked a brawl, allowing Nott to slip into the kitchen unnoticed. She met them five minutes later in the snowy alley—glove tips sticky with crocus sap.

"You do the deed?" Fjord asked.

Nott nodded, wiping her hands off on her pants. She looked at the group, her eyes passing over everyone but catching on Caleb like a sweater snagged on a thorn bush. She ripped her gaze away, resting it instead on Beau.

His stomach felt cold at the loss.

They walked back to the Tipsy Seal as a group, discussing the plan in hushed voices while Caleb trailed behind. Runes and spell circles cycled through his head. He'd committed their precise arrangement in all their spiraling complexity to memory over countless late nights until both his candles and mind were spent.

The equations used for his first and upcoming second jump were nearly identical—there was only a 3% variance between them, but that was enough. Even a single misplaced line out of thousands would ruin him.

He ran nose-first into Molly, oblivious to the party's change of pace.

"Woah, steady now," Molly said, righting them both with a too-gentle hand and concern creasing his brow.

"Steady," Caleb repeated to himself like a mantra. "Steady."

...

The cold followed them into the tavern, but the quiet didn't. Thick speculation filled the air as the Mighty Nein made their way to the bar.

Lord someone was going with whom?

Duke so-and-so was wearing what?

Lady such-and-such said what? Oh I can't believe it!

Caleb slid onto an empty barstool, letting the rest of the present Mighty Nein order lunch around him. Chatty patrons mulled about, filling the tavern with restless energy that made Caleb's fingers tap too quickly against the bar.

He barely registered his lunch as he ate it, but it sat poorly in his churning stomach all the same.

The Mighty Nein—minus Jester—lingered in the belly of the Tipsy Seal with nothing to do but burn daylight until it was time for the next stage of their plan.

Caleb spent an hour upstairs, turning his cat into a hummingbird. But when he returned to ground level, it seemed as if no time had passed at all. With an internal groan, he re-anchored himself to the barstool. He ought to be talking with them, squeezing every last ounce of joy and friendship out of today in case he jumped. In case someone died.

But even the thought of having those conversations, pretending nothing was wrong, made him nauseous.

Nott and Fjord started a semi-friendly game of darts that Molly entered and exited after his throw went wide, the dart embedding itself in a bystander's raised tankard with a heavy 'thud'.

"I've been banished," he declared with exaggerated sigh, sliding into the chair next to Caleb.

Caleb mustered a smile. "How are you feeling?" he asked despite himself. "No… lingering effects from yesterday?"

Molly looked him over, his face splitting in a sharp grin as he leaned heavy on the counter, a hand propped under his full cheek. "You're asking if I'm still desperately in love with you?"

Caleb's jaw tightened as he averted his gaze down to the woodgrain. His face went hot. "Ah, yes… that."

"Well, it may disappoint you to know I am, for better or for worse, once again in control of my affections," Molly said with an air of manufactured regret.

Caleb bit his lip as the cool, iron weight of mourning settled in his stomach, followed by a wave of guilt. He wasn't sad Molly had returned to his senses—Caleb was still unsure if he'd ever lost them in the first place—but he mourned for the loss of yesterday. A single, harmless afternoon of playing House and pretending everything was fine. All that was left was the slow, staccato drum beats of the funeral dirge as the noose tightened around his neck. Though in this scenario, he was more like the hangman than the hanged, but the drum beat the same either way.

He picked at a loose splinter in the bar with a fingernail.

"Caleb?"

Caleb blinked, only now realizing Molly had said something he'd missed entirely. "I'm sorry, Mollymauk. What were you saying a moment ago?"

Molly leaned back at that, sucking on his cheek and averting his eyes in… disappointment? Embarrassment? "Oh never mind me," he said, reigning in his features.

Across the floor, Beau collected all the darts, stabbing them into the board to rest before looking around at her companions.

"I believe it's finally time to get ready," Molly said as he watched the rest of the Mighty Nein head up the stairs.

Caleb followed Molly several paces behind, as if he was being dragged by an invisible tether, up the narrow stairs to their— _Molly's_ room.

Fjord side-eyed Caleb as they entered before returning to changing with a series of short, deliberate motions and a tense jaw. He pulled on his ornamental tunic over the palace kitchen uniform Love had procured for him and tied the front closed so tightly that not even a sliver of the pale fabric was visible beneath.

"Stop me if this sounds ridiculous, but I'm beginning to think this just might work," Molly said, his tone honey-warm with good humor.

Fjord gave a dubious hum as he pulled on his fur-lined boots.

Undeterred, Molly grabbed the remaining two parchment-wrapped parcels on the table and tossed Caleb his.

It hit Caleb in the chest, and he just barely managed to throw his hands up in time to keep it from spilling to the floor.

With an easy motion, Molly loosened the twine on his own parcel and revealed a silky garment with more beading than Caleb remembered. Molly rolled his shoulders, letting his rainbow coat slip to the ground in a pool around his feet before sliding an arm out of his vest. He met eyes with Caleb, cocking an eyebrow with a cheeky grin.

"Oh… sorry," Caleb said, woodenly turning around as if his face wasn't burning.

Molly's breathy chuckle behind his back didn't help.

Frumpkin, wearing a hummingbird's body, watched them from atop the bedpost with glassy eyes.

Stiffly, Caleb pulled off his own heavy coat and let the familiar weight fall to the floor. The embroidered sleeve stared back up at him, and the pang of loss struck his chest. He wouldn't be able to take it with him. Of course he wouldn't—the only thing that survived the jump was his mind, it seemed—but the thought of losing the bright, looping daisy embroidery made him ache.

He shed the rest of his clothes without fanfare and squeezed into the blue tunic before the shocking cold could sink in. The tunic and pants had been made for a thinner, taller man, so it pinched under his arms and was tight across his biceps. He stuffed the excess sleeves and pants into the new gloves and boots, hoping he didn't look as much like a child playing dress-up as he felt.

The single benefit of the pinching outfit was the accompanying fencing cape. Concealing the entire left half of his upper body, it provided a convenient place to hide his spellbook and component pouch. He sank into the nearby chair and rummaged through his belongings for a way to jury-rig a single-shoulder book holster.

"This is what you got me? Really?" Fjord mumbled, and Caleb saw him holding his mask in his periphery.

"Well, if the fish mask fits…" Molly trailed off with a grin in his voice.

"Haha, very funny," Fjord replied, putting on the scaled fish mask that, did indeed, fit. The long, fur-lined tunic they had picked out for him suited him well and made him look a couple sizes larger than he actually was. Even with the iridescent fish mask, he might have looked intimidating if he didn't keep slipping back into the posture of someone who was bullied as a child. "I'm going to go check on the girls," he said and shuffled out.

The door clicked behind him, leaving the room in silence save for the rustling of clothes.

"Could I borrow your hands for a moment, Caleb?" Molly asked.

Caleb blinked at the word choice, taking a moment to school his face before looking up. "Sorry—? Oh."

Molly stood with his back to Caleb, the buttons on his dress only half done.

Caleb cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah, sure." Pushing himself out of his chair, he stepped over to Molly, his hands hovering over the small of the tiefling's back for just a moment before taking the first button between his index finger and thumb. It was quickly apparent why Molly had asked for help: the buttons were the size of a fingernail and covered in fabric, making them fussier than they had any right to be.

Abandoning his first attempt, Caleb slid his gloves off and stuffed them under his arm. Mollymauk's bare skin was hot under his knuckles as he began lacing the buttons in earnest. He kept his eyes down on his work, not on the lean expanse of Molly's exposed back. Not on the sculpted edge of his shoulder blades or the dip of his spine, covered in glossy tattoos. And definitely not on the artful arc of his neck disappearing into inky curls.

Caleb laced the last button and stepped back too quickly, stuffing his hands back into his gloves. "Finished."

"Much appreciated," Molly said, turning around and straightening the garment out. To Caleb's dismay, the front of the dress had a V-neck so low it stopped just short of his navel. How terribly on-brand.

The delicate embroidery had small patches where its beads had snagged and been torn out over the years, leaving frayed thread in their wake. Not much to be done about that at this point. Thankfully, the rest of Mollymauk was so distracting that the Ice Haven gentry would likely notice his tattoos or scars before they thought to examine his clothes.

Still, Caleb could at least help a little. "Here," he said, stepping close again despite his stomach's misgivings.

Molly watched him in red-eyed curiosity as Caleb reached a hand out, stopping six inches short of his chest. He murmured an incantation, and prestidigitation rippled the air between them. Makeup stains lifted from the garment, floating around his outstretched hand like water. Caleb let his hand ghost along the neckline, cleaning as it drifted over the fabric.

Outside the window, it began to snow again.

Caleb eyed the "sleeves" of Molly's dress dubiously. They ended where they began at the shoulder, hanging down to his hips in a stretch of loose fabric that was purely decorative. Caleb was beginning to think this garment was typically supposed to be worn with a tunic beneath. Not that Molly would care anyway. "Are you sure you are going to be warm enough?" he asked.

"Of course. That's what the pants are for."

"I know you run hot, but—"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Molly said with a self-satisfied smile.

"You're incorrigible," Caleb grumbled with a good-natured sigh, focusing on his spell and where his hand ghosted over Molly's beaded shoulder.

"Would you have me any other way?" Molly murmured. The air around them stilled.

Caleb's grip on the cantrip faltered, and it flickered out of existence, suspended makeup silently falling to the floor. His breath caught in his throat.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again like a suffocating fish. Saying anything was a commitment. Locking their ambiguous relationship down into something that was or was not when he had already decided to leave Mollymauk Tealeaf as a question. A glimmering 'what-if'.

His chest felt tight.

Molly's self-assured smile slipped, and a flash of worry overtook him, only to be replaced by a creeping embarrassment. A dark flush spread across his nose to the tips of his pointed ears, and he averted his gaze.

Beau's barking laughter from next door broke the silence, and a knock at the door followed it.

"I've got it," Molly and Caleb said simultaneously, both making a move for the door and almost tripping over the other in the process.

The door swung open without their input, revealing Yasha's looming form in the hall. "Oh," she paused, "am I interrupting something?" Her dual-colored gaze slid from a flushing Molly to a very pale Caleb.

Molly mumbled something Caleb couldn't catch before speaking up. "Are the carriages here?"

"No, not yet," she said. "Do you still want to borrow some makeup?" She held up a tiny brush, stained black.

"You know, that actually sounds delightful. Why don't I go do that," Molly replied too quickly, rubbing his neck. He squeezed past her, looking everywhere but at Caleb, grabbed the brush from Yasha's hand, and disappeared into the hall.

Yasha looked to Caleb with a raised eyebrow. "You know, he's a pretty difficult person to embarrass, but it looks like you managed it," she said, sounding somewhere between confused and impressed.

Hot shame washed over him. "I didn't… it wasn't intentional… I just…" the words stuck between his teeth like molasses. Caleb bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Only a couple hours left in this timeline—hopefully—and he was still managing to bungle his remaining relationships.

She shrugged. "He'll be fine. He's got thick skin."

Caleb wasn't so sure.

"So, uh, did you want to put on makeup with us?" Yasha asked, nodding to the adjacent room.

"No, I—" he cut himself off to recompose himself. "Thank you, but no," he finished more slowly.

"Oh. Okay. No problem," she replied with just the smallest frown. "Fjord, Beau, and Nott are waiting downstairs, if you want to…?"

"Yes," he said, eagerly grasping the lifeline. "I'll go wait with them."

Yasha made her awkward exit, and Caleb gathered his mask and remaining supplies. Frumpkin fluttered onto his shoulder and hopped up to nestle in the space between Caleb's collar and neck, hidden by a mess of red-brown hair.

As Caleb started to flee the second floor, he realized half-way down the stairs that Fjord, Beau, and Nott probably wouldn't give him the warmest reception. He paused on the stairs for the moment, weighing his options. The waiting trio's cold shoulders versus running into Molly without a way to diffuse the awkwardness.

He jogged the rest of the way down the stairs.

The night crowd was thinner than usual, and the remaining patrons eyed the Mighty Nein in their finery with mild curiosity.

Nott, Beau, and Fjord lounged against the bar. Nott's feet dangled from the barstool as she took a steadying drink from her tankard. Her dress was dark, with a single line of orange trim around the collar as garnish. It had several pockets hidden among the side seam. And since the dress was only fitted at the shoulders, they ran deep. That's why he had chosen it for her. He hoped she liked it.

"You're hardly going to be the weirdest thing there," Valentine said to Nott, standing behind the counter and polishing a glass. "Don't worry about it."

"That's easy for you to say. You're an elf," she shot back.

He shrugged. "Tomoe tends to keep weird company. I'm telling you, you'll be fine." His eyes caught on Caleb. "Oh hey, look what the cat—er—bird dragged in. You look like one of those toy soldiers. Those—those—," he snapped his fingers, looking for the word, "nutcrackers!" He slammed his fist on his open palm in triumph. "That's it. One of those nutcrackers."

Caleb cringed. Nutcracker. Delightful.

Wordlessly, he slipped into the seat next to Beau. Nott looked the other way.

"You all look very nice," Caleb said.

Beau gave him an appraising look. "Yeah, you too, nutcracker," she said with a smirk.

Caleb summoned the shadow of a smile at the ribbing before lowering his voice. "Now do you all remember Frumpkin's signals from earlier?"

Quietly, Caleb repeated the list of signals to the trio. Even Nott, who seemed more interested in nursing her drink than anything to do with him, kept her head tilted in such a way that he knew she was listening.

Just as Caleb finished his third round of repetition, Molly and Yasha made their way down the stairs, locked at the elbows and armed with dark lips and smokey eyes.

"Damn," Beau murmured to herself.

Caleb bit back a hum in agreement and instead occupied himself with the patterns in the floorboards.

As Yasha and Molly approached the party, in the first stroke of fortune Caleb had had since, debatably, birth, the awaited coachman pulled open the tavern door. Honing in on them immediately, he introduced himself to the group and announced that the two carriages they'd paid for were indeed outside.

Caleb's stomach lurched, any butterflies he might have had withering. This was it. The beginning of the end. The singular, collective breath before the orchestra would begin to play.

They shuffled after the coachman, stepping out of the Tipsy Seal's warmth and into the blue cold. The falling sun behind them caught on the steam from the lake. Dyed orange, the lake looked like it was burning.

The party stood together, a carriage ahead and a carriage behind them. "Hey, give us a second," Beau shouted to the first coachman before turning to the group. Beau cleared her throat, looking at her gathered companions. "So, uh, does everyone have what they're supposed to have?" she asked, resting a hand over one of her deep pants pockets where her darts rested.

Casual hands drifted over pockets, grazing the buried outlines of swords and daggers. Caleb could feel the familiar press of a leather-bound tome beneath his arm. All he could manage was a stiff nod.

"So we're really doing this, huh?" Fjord said with a sigh.

"Well it wouldn't be very nice of us to leave Jester and Love high and dry, would it?" Molly said, a gentle reminder hidden under his teasing tone.

Caleb stared holes into the dirty snow beneath them.

"Right," Fjord said, sucking his teeth. "Well, if things go south or people get separated, get back here as quick as you can, so we can get out of this—" a chill breeze blew through them, and Fjord's teeth began to chatter, "— _goddamn_ city before shit really hits the fan," he said, shoving his hands beneath his armpits. "This shit ain't worth dyin' for," he added as an afterthought.

Caleb inhaled a beat too quickly, his lungs stinging at the chill, and schooled his face into an impassive mask. This was the _only_ thing worth dying for. This could be the end of any or all of them, but the dominos were already falling. As casually as he could manage, he lifted his gaze off the ground and let it wander over his teammates—no one seemed to have noticed his slip in demeanor.

Beau reached up to fasten her mask behind her head, starting a chain reaction for the rest of the party to follow suit. When Beau withdrew her hands, she had a gold, snarling creature in place of a face. The creature was so intensely stylized Caleb couldn't tell if it was a lion, a dragon, or a monkey, but he wished he had opted for a full face mask as well. The grinning half sun Molly had chosen for him gave him precious little to hide behind.

Beau shifted her weight, about to turn away and head for the first carriage.

His stomach lurched. No, not yet!

"We have—" he spoke up, surprising even himself. All eyes turned to him. "We have prepared for this, yeah? Worked for this," his gaze drifted to Nott. She looked away. "Planned for this. I'm sure everything will go fine, and… I'm sure everything will go fine" he could only repeat. He would see them all after this. They would have a little more time.

Fjord frowned, and Beau gave a stiff nod. She surveyed the party with dead, golden eyes, looking to Molly, Caleb, and Yasha. "Alright, see you guys there," she said with a single nod, and broke away. Fjord and Nott followed, leaving empty footprints in their wake.

Yasha and Molly turned towards the second carriage. "So dour. You'd think we'd been invited to a funeral," Molly said.

Caleb's mouth tasted bitter.

With some effort, the remaining three stuffed themselves and their fancy clothes into the empty carriage. Yasha and Molly sat on one side, while Caleb sat on the opposing bench, making great efforts to neither touch nor look at them more than he had too. It was too hard.

As the carriage surged to life, he pressed his forehead against the milky window, trying to decipher the gloom beyond and forget about guilt and the anxiety warring inside him to see which could tear his guts to shreds first.

Formless shadows passed beyond them with the occasional red blur of a lantern. Every jolt of the carriage sent his knees knocking against Mollymauk's, and each time he woodenly drew them back into place without looking, keeping his gaze locked on the window as if the secrets of the universe were etched into the dirty glass. But the more he looked, the more he could only see his own pale visage reflected at him. Gaunt in the fading light, with dark eye bags, he looked like a drowning man. Maybe he was.

The carriage rocked again. Mollymauk's knee bumped his, but did not leave.

That traitorous corner of Caleb's mind was grateful for the heat.

He heard Yasha and Molly murmuring about the palace out the other window, but couldn't see it himself until they disembarked. While Molly tipped the driver—probably too much—Caleb could only gawk at his first sight of the spectacle this close.

The palace rose from the edge of the crater with only the unforgiving arctic night behind it. Tiered octagonal spires with multiple ornate roofs loomed up to pierce the sky. High enough to be a dare, a challenge, though he did not know if it was directed at the gods above or any revolution-minded peasants below. Perhaps both.

The main body of the building towered nearly as high as its spires, snagging the last of the melting sunset on its white walls and continuing the repetition of spiked, layered roofs. With a shell of ice and snow on every roof, the building was nearly all white except for the gold lamplight pouring out of every window. A monolithic stone staircase demanded visitors prove their determination before entry, and even the party guests were no exception.

Groups of eager party-goers took the stairs' challenge, plodding up them dutifully in their long, snow-dusted cloaks, and laughing while winded behind their masks. Caleb spotted Fjord, Nott, and Beau half-way up, and watched them make it to the top. Beau nonchalantly tripped a noblewoman, causing her to go flying into a nearby guard and giving them enough of a distraction to slip around the side of the palace.

"So far so good," Molly said, watching them disappear. His pale half-mask stood stark against his violet skin, in the shape of a crescent moon on its side so it gave him the appearance of an extra set of horns. The painted leather creased in a permanent smile around the eyes, making him look even more devious than usual.

"Well then, I believe it's our turn," he said, offering both of his arms to Caleb and Yasha.

Caleb stared at the loop of Molly's offered arm for a beat. Which would be more dangerous—accepting or refusing? The question made his gut churn, and the world began to tilt. With a hard swallow followed by a deliberate motion, he took Molly's arm. The most dangerous option was to fall down the stairs and crack his skull open due to a moment of lightheadedness. And while dying was an option, dying like that was not.

Molly gave him a questioning look, and Caleb could only grimace back.

"Presenting, in their first public performance," Mollymauk said under his breath to Caleb and Yasha alone, "The fabulous, Lord Claiborne, the mesmerizing, Baron Mallory, and the astonishing Lady Yancey," he said, "watch them dazzle you with the performance of a lifetime."

Yasha chuckled as they started up the stairs. "Baron Mallory, you should have told me, I would have put an act together."

"Oh, but the improvisation is the fun of it," he said.

Caleb was of the opinion that improvisation was where carefully-crafted plans came to die, but the grin on Molly's face made him keep his cynicism to himself. At least someone would have fun tonight.

In the middle of that thought, Caleb's breath caught in his throat as the toe of his boot scraped along a fissure in the stone step. Something heavy and invisible washed over him like a wave, sticking to his body, like a layer of tar, clogging his magic, and weighing him down.

He froze, yanking Molly and Yasha back in the process. Below him, his boot had unveiled a streak of bare stone in which part of a rune circle had been carved.

"You alright?" Molly asked with a pleasant smile, hiding a question as he pulled Caleb up and back into pace with them.

"Y-yeah," he managed, wary of the pace at which they were quickly approaching the guards. "Just a slip on the ice." He thought for a moment, choosing his words. "Do you find the… _ice_ affects either of you?"

Yasha raised a brow in confusion.

Molly shrugged. "I notice it's there," he said casually, flashing a dazzling smile at an elderly couple they passed.

Sweat beaded at Caleb's temples. His body felt too hot and too cold all at once. He hadn't expected the anti-magic ward to be like this. To feel like this. One of his senses was deafened, the air was too thick, and he was walking into a den of wolves with both hands bound behind his back.

No, that wasn't right, a man with his hands bound had a much better chance with wolves than a wizard who couldn't cast in an imperial stronghold.

Earlier that day, he'd been terrified of succeeding. Now, in light of his own powerlessness, catastrophic failure seemed imminent. He was going to get them all killed.

The sense of impending doom settled on his shoulders like an iron yoke. In success or failure, he'd be miserable by the end of the night, and that was absolute.

The nerves were sinking into his legs now, so he could hardly feel the stone beneath him. Each step up was a step he couldn't take back. His tunic pinched, and the blue-black velvet drank up the night, so he stuck out like a streak of char against the ice. He could feel Frumpkin's tiny heart beating against his neck.

As they approached the guards at the top, Molly drew Caleb and Yasha closer, still wearing his most charming smile.

"Steady," he breathed in Caleb's direction.

Caleb could only clench his jaw in answer.

They joined the glittering crowd clustered around the entrance, where several guards blocked the way forward.

"Invitation?" a hulking dragonborn woman in half-plate asked them.

Untwining his stiff arm from Mollymauk, Caleb reached under his cape and pulled out an open envelope.

The guard took it, eyes roaming over Jester's perfect forgery. She looked back up at them with an acknowledging nod then added a rough, "Welcome to the masquerade."

As they stepped through the mouth of the palace, the guests around them murmured with awe at the spectacle. A large foyer received them where a flurry of servants wove through crowds of gentry, peeling their outerwear off of them and scurrying away to store the expensive furs in a coat closet. Silk screens painted with sharp mountains and snarling dragons ran three stories tall, with gilded clouds that glowed in the lamplight. The bleached wood walls supported the painted ceiling with pillars carved in the shapes of monsters and beasts, each dead-eyed and judging. Beyond the large foyer where the guests were received, an even larger chasm opened in the palace's abdomen, from which dizzyingly fast music spilled. Between the gaps in the opulent crowd before them flashed the spinning skirts and capes of dancers beyond.

"Woah," Yasha murmured.

"How many people do you think they have on a day-to-day basis just polishing the floors?" Molly asked, letting the toe of his boot drift across the patterned marble.

No one answered him as the crowd behind them propelled them forwards into the waiting arms of two maidservants insistent on taking their coats. After several strong refusals—capes and coats were useful for hiding swords after all—the trio paused in front of the ballroom. Molly looked to his companions in question.

Caleb took a deep breath and untangled the knot of plans running through his head. The heist was step one, destroying this timeline and everyone in it was step two. One, two. Simple. All they had to do now was monitor the situation in the ballroom until the Countess fainted. Then as soon as they knew Fjord and Jester had a handle on that situation, they'd have to close in on an unknown amount of gang members and defeat them without attracting the attention of the palace guards.

All without magic.

 _Simple_.

"Ca—I mean, Claiborne?" came Yasha's voice.

Caleb refocused, looking up to her. Her thin mask, made mostly of dangling beads, did nothing to disguise the concern on her face.

"Ya?" he managed, trying to arrange his face into something at least neutral.

Molly and Yasha passed each other a glance, then looked back at him.

"Are you alright?" Molly asked in a tone so soft it was cruel.

The laugh bubbled up, and Caleb only bit down fast enough to turn it into a sickly wheeze. "Ya ya," he breathed, composing himself with a shudder and swallowing a bitter smile. "The… _ice_ outside just has me on edge. Nothing to worry about."

Molly bit the inside of his cheek in dissatisfaction, regarding Caleb for a moment before nodding slowly. He twined his arm around Caleb's again—not giving Caleb a chance to refuse.

"Well then, friends," Molly started in a lighter tone but still low enough so that only his two companions could hear over the noise. "What we are going to do is we are going to go in there and we are going to have a delightful, non-suspicious evening, and we are going to eat delicious food and dance very poorly, while our other friends have to crawl around the cold bushes all night. Sound like a plan?"

Yasha gave an easy nod that Caleb could only poorly imitate.

"Alright, then," Molly announced, raising his forearms higher and pulling the friends he had hooked on either elbow closer. "Shall we?"

The cavernous, octagonal ballroom greeted them with a wave of noise—the combined murmur of a crowd hundreds strong. The space stretched out before them, brilliant and glittering. The domed ceiling held hundreds of ghoulish tableaus, each painted with an exacting sense of drama. A pack of minstrels against the left wall hammered away at a fast piece, choking the necks of instruments Caleb had never seen before. To their right waited a maze of banquet tables, piled high with carved fish and dripping fruit. Guests not brave enough to join the whirlwind of dancers gathered along the back walls, under the shade of the overhanging balconies, where noblewomen watched the spectacle below with shimmering fans to hide their sneers. And in the center of it all, rose an ice sculpture, easily twenty feet tall, of a roaring, coiled wyrm

Mollymauk whistled in amazement. "Amazing what the opium trade will get you," he said cheerily.

"How do you think they got that in here?" Yasha asked, her head slightly cocked as they started to travel around the edge of the room towards the food.

"I couldn't imagine—" Molly started, "Oh, look! A familiar face already," he said, motioning forward with a discreet nod of his head.

After a moment of searching, Caleb saw Jester buried elbow-deep in the dessert table, hunting for pastries and balancing two teetering plates in the other hand. An older, elven woman wearing a similar uniform stood behind her with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

"I don't think we should—" Caleb began under his breath as Molly led them towards Jester.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Lord Claiborne," Molly said innocently, releasing Yasha and Caleb's arms as they reached a table of appetizers.

Molly and Yasha busied themselves with the feast, collecting strips of salted meats that ran purple in the middle, skewered olives, and steamed dumplings. Caleb abstained as they worked their way down the line, positive he'd vomit up anything he even put near his mouth, though it didn't look like he was alone.

As they reached the dessert table, he noticed the elven woman looked quite pale, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Surely that's enough, Miss. Fancypants," she chastised weakly.

As their trio neared, Jester greeted them with the short, obligatory smile used on strangers but with a sparkle of acknowledgment in her eyes. "I'm almost doneee," she called back to the sickly elf in a sing-song voice.

"I'm not sure this is appropriate for a member of the staff, we should—" the woman slammed a hand to her mouth, holding back a wretch as she swayed on her feet.

"Doctor, are you alright? If you're not feeling well maybe you should go home?" Jester suggested, tone soaked in concern as she turned her attention to the doctor, all the while subtly dumping her plates of desserts into her apron's front pocket.

"No, I'm fine I—!" she broke off to hold back another wretch.

"Okay, come on, I'm going to call you a buggy or something to take you home," Jester decided, looping a strong arm around the woman's waist and walking her forward. "Excuse me, very nicely dressed people," she said to them.

"Oh, pardon us," Molly said with a matching grin, stepping aside to clear a path.

The doctor continued her weak protests as Jester led her away. Caleb allowed one or two glances over his shoulder to confirm they'd made it to the exit.

Nott's poison of choice had a delayed reaction—four to six hours—and between the vomiting and diarrhea, it was more than enough for any self-respecting employee to call out for the night. Even if the night was the biggest party of the year. He doubted they'd see any more of the doctor.

The intention behind poisoning the entire bar earlier was to make it appear the bar had served some bad fish and not a deliberate act against key staff members. If the doctor had already succumbed to the effects, the cook shouldn't be far behind. Right then, Nott, Beau, and Fjord should be waiting to ambush him as he left the kitchen.

The trio wandered the east side of the ballroom while Molly and Yasha snacked. Caleb kept his hands laced together behind his back. It kept them steady.

They lingered around the fringes of the masquerade, lazily strolling from one area to another just quickly enough that no chatty guests could draw them into conversation. Across the room, Jester returned alone sometime later, joining a cluster of servants near a covered archway.

Valentine had been correct in telling Nott she wouldn't be the strangest guest in attendance. Giving truth to the rumors, the Countess kept a colorful circle, and humans were a minority. Pale tritons with the fleshy bodies of whales sipped champagne in the corner, a lanky bugbear roamed the banquet tables, and tabaxi with the pelts of snow leopards danced with inhuman vigor. He watched their thin tails whip around behind them like flails.

It was then, through the hurricane of motion, he saw her beneath the wyrm's curling tail. She stood there, pale and still like a broken bone bursting from the palace's flesh, immutable. The immovable axis on which the city rotated, Countess Tomoe Heinai. Her long, white hair was pulled back behind her to fully brandish the dark, fractal-shaped scars running down the left half of her face and under her robes as a warning. Those were lightning scars. She'd faced down casters and won, and the sword at her side said she was willing to do so again. The edges of her billowing cloak fluttered in an absent breeze. Air genasi.

The linchpin of their plan gleamed silver on her opposite hip—the enchanted flask. She took a swig from it, continuing to survey the party as she did. Soon, she would hand it off to be refilled, and it would be returned with a potent dose of Nott's poison. Then the last line of dominos would fall all at once.

The party rolled onwards, and the music picked up speed as it went. The less agile dancers stumbled at the increased tempo, while men in fur-lined overcoats laughed at them from the side, spilling their wine as they did. The room began to heat with the warmth of so many bodies. Drops of sweat rolled down Caleb's back and soaked into the velvet tunic, despite the occasional piercing draft from the door. The guests grew drunker and talked even louder. The dancers in the center spun and spun.

A pressure squeezed his upper arm, and Caleb flinched. Trance broken, he looked up to see Molly watching him with guarded concern, hand still resting on his arm.

"Woah now," he said quietly, "I don't know where you just went, but you need to come back to us, alright? We need that brilliant mind of yours here. This is your plan after all," he said, looking at Caleb, nose ever so slightly creased as he tried to solve a puzzle he didn't have all the pieces for.

"My plan, after all," Caleb repeated with a heavy breath. His mouth tasted like iron.

"Alright, well this isn't working," Molly said with a frown then shot a glance over Caleb's shoulder. "Yancey, can you hold down the fort for a bit?"

Yasha looked down at the entire tray of charcuterie in her arms she'd pilfered from the banquet table, then back up at Molly. "Yeah, I think I'll be okay. Olive?"

Molly bit it straight off the offered skewer then wrapped an arm around one of Caleb's. "Delicious," he said, mouth still full, and plucked Frumpkin straight out from Caleb's collar.

"What are you—?" Caleb started.

"Hold this for a minute, won't you?" Molly asked Yasha, setting Frumpkin in the fur of her shawl. The familiar bristled at the manhandling for a beat before nestling into the soft fur, eyes drifting closed.

"—doing?" Caleb finished.

Yasha nodded easily. "Sure." She offered Frumpkin some cheese crumbs on her fingers. "Cheese?"

Before Caleb could see if his traitorous familiar accepted the bribe, Molly dragged him away.

"See you in a bit," Molly called as he marched Caleb towards the center of the room.

"Molly—Mallory, what are we doing?" Caleb demanded, too tired to even dig in his heels.

"Something even _you_ can't brood while doing. We're dancing!"

...

 **A/N:** Hey guys, so I do have plans to continue this fic to completion however I won't be uploading future chapters here on FFN bc a.) there's still no critical role category in 2020, and b.) FFN makes uploading and formatting an absolute pain. Anyways, it's on AO3 under the same name.


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